21 Shades of Night, page 436
His body lumped, bounced, scuffed, and banged against each individual step, but he made it in one piece. He profusely thanked whichever servant had the foresight to place the modern stainless steel fridge at the entrance to the kitchen, even though he had just clunked his head on it, because with a single agonising wrench he had the door open and there in front of him were over a hundred clear plastic packets of blood. There were no niceties today. He ripped the top off the nearest bag and with badly shaking hands, threw the stuff all over him. Hopefully some of it would land in his mouth, and it would give him the strength to reach for another.
* * *
THE TIME IT took to go from weaker than a baby to strong as an ox was barely twenty minutes. Six bags of blood, twenty-five swear words, and a whole lot of laundry later, Martinet was in the shower cleaning himself up. His lower legs still stung, but they'd already shown great improvement after the massive blood intake, and given another day, they'd be right as rain. His cheek had swelled rather nastily and was still sore to the touch, but the bones had knitted together and in a couple of days, there wouldn't be a mark upon him. His huntress, however, would be bearing lots of marks. His. It was time to go and retrieve her.
He dressed all in black. It matched his mood. From the neatly pressed slacks to the thick cashmere roll-neck jumper that fit against his torso with exacting precision, he was ready and eager to start the night's proceedings. On feet that were now lighter than air, he raced back up the steps and almost floated up the cliff-face. He felt good. His body needed to heal a little, but his strength had returned in full measure. There was a lot to be said for that. After several thousand years you became used to having extraordinary strength and out of all of his many talents, strength was one of the ones he appreciated the most. When it went, it was sorely missed. He made the journey back to the car in less than five minutes, almost letting his enthusiasm get the better of him. Pausing, his hand on the shiny black door handle, he contemplated what he was about to do. Would he be able to live with himself after this? She was an innocent, she was young, and he planned on taking her life. Could he cope with the guilt? He pursed his lips together and slowly ran his thumb across his mouth as he considered his next steps. Gilles' face floated before his eyes and then several others came up to join him. He shook his head. Hell yes, he could live with himself, and not only that, he'd damn well dance on her grave. If she could live with herself after all the cruelties she'd delivered in her incredibly small lifespan, then he should have no problems.
Pulling the door open sharply, he picked her up carefully, supporting her neck in one hand and the curve just below her ass in the other. He cradled her to his chest and inhaled her. He sucked in a slow lungful of air and savoured her flowery fragrance. Lily of the valley. That was what it was. From the moment she'd first stepped in the ballroom, he had singled out her very distinctive perfume but the particular brand she wore had remained elusive. It had niggled him. Over the years, he had committed hundreds of bottles of scent to memory and had an especial fondness for Chanel, but Violetta had chosen something much less sophisticated and yet, the beautiful pure cut of the scent was far more intoxicating to him. If he wasn't much mistaken, she wore Penhaligon's Lily of the Valley and on her skin the smell was sublime. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensory overload for a moment. He would have to get her a bottle. The tantalising aroma did funny things to his insides, and he liked to encourage that at every opportunity.
'Wake up,' he whispered in her ear. He didn't really want to wake her, but the journey down the mountainside wasn't going to be pretty if he didn't get a little help.
'Where am I... what...?' Her eyes were dazed, her tongue was thick in her mouth, and her faced was pinched. Her arm. He'd forgotten about that, damn it. Burrowing inside her head, he swiftly numbed the area. He was rewarded with a shaky smile. The girl must be dreaming. She'd be busy trying to claw out his vital organs otherwise.
'Hold on to my neck and shut your eyes.' The whisper was inside her head this time.
She gave him several confused, sleep-filled blinks of her eyelashes, so he repeated the command, giving her a little push. Obediently her arms snaked up around his neck, her fingers entwining tightly as her eyes fluttered closed.
And so they flew down the mountainside in a series of grand jumps before he landed expertly on the small ledge that would lead to her new home. She would be spending her foreseeable future there, be that long or short. He didn't particularly care at this moment in time. He had designs on her body for the next week or two, and after that, they'd see. She deserved no promises. After he'd seen to her arm and the limb had repaired itself, he'd extract his revenge and enjoy every second of her torment. He fully intended to put her through hell and back. It was the very least she deserved, but it was all he was capable of, so it would have to do.
Walking down the same steps that had nearly been his undoing only minutes ago, he danced upon his toes and twirled his prize around in his arms. Her eyes snapped open at the dizzying movement. Large and voluminous in her beautiful oval face, they stared up at him with dawning comprehension. There was no fear, though there would be in the days to come. He'd make sure of it. Right now, it was a look of contempt and loathing that broadcast itself loud and clear without the need for words to be aired.
'Yes. You're doomed, Princess. Get used to the idea.'
She did not give him the satisfaction of a response, merely closed her eyes and tried to shut him out. He laughed. 'That's hardly going to be very effective, darling. Not when I can easily rummage around in that delightful mind of yours.' He heard the scream of rage she stifled. He felt the tightening of her fists and her frustration at being so easily captured.
Manoeuvring her easily through the house, past the now spotless kitchen that housed little more than several pints of blood, he decided all that would have to change. If he wanted to keep her alive, he'd need to feed her. A mug of sugary tea would probably keep her going until the morning when proper sustenance could be provided. The day he had planned was going to involve lots of exertions on her part, and she'd require plenty of energy.
Walking across the stone floor and nudging the oak panelled door of his bedroom open with his knee, he flung her across the room and watched as she landed bang in the middle of his bed. He watched her splutter and curse as she pulled herself up on his cherry-red satin sheets and finally she bit. 'Why don't you just kill me now and spare yourself the trouble of looking after me?'
It wasn't the words he had been expecting. 'So you admit you deserve to die?' He inclined his head in question and a fold of ebony hair slid across his cheek. Her heartbeat thumped erratically, and her body was drawn taut as a bowstring. He wondered if he might get an apology.
She gave him a derisive snort in response. 'Do your worst, Martinet. I have people who'll come for me. Just sleep with both of those wonderful blue eyes open, asshole, because I promise you that as soon as I find them closed, I'll rip them out.'
His lips narrowed and then he flooded her body with pain. He intensified the sensation so that she writhed about in agony. His huntress was going to learn to keep her mouth shut unless she could find something nice to say. Watching her body coil in the throes of anguish for several long minutes, he finally said, 'It won't stop until you apologise.'
'Go. To. Hell.'
He admired her. He couldn't help himself. She'd never looked more beautiful, splayed out and thrashing her limbs around in a twisted mess across his bed. He desperately wanted to fuck her, but for that reason alone he'd make himself wait. He needed to tread cautiously around this one and she would require careful handling. He added another notch of nastiness that would have her endorphins screaming in no time. Another minute of thrashing ensued. Then a strangled voice could be heard.
'Please. Make. It. Stop.' Each word was bitten off and spluttered out whenever she had a chance to inhale a second's worth of air.
'Apologise.' He upped her level of torment again. To be honest, he was curious how much more the girl could take. She was much stronger than she looked. Finally a tortured scream left her lips.
'I'm sorry,' the words were gurgled and almost unintelligible, but it was a start and it would do.
'Apology accepted.' His steely glare descended upon her, sending slivers of metal deep into her spine, but he halted the pain instantly. Compliance was always rewarded. Walking slowly to the side of the bed, the sound of his footsteps echoing against the stone, his warm hand reached down to capture her wrist. She immediately pulled it away out of his reach.
A semblance of a smile began to twitch at the two corners of his lips. 'Do you realise how pointless that is? Do you really believe you can escape, outrun, or outwit a vampire? His hand moved, so quickly that not even a blur was present in her vision. When she blinked, the fingers of both his hands had surrounded her wrists and were digging tightly into the soft skin. When she wouldn't look him in the eye, he simply commanded her head up and trapped her within his gaze. Two icy blue eyes bored into hers and the game for superiority was lost.
'Stay still. I'm going to fix that arm, unless you want to end up disfigured for life?' He raised an eyebrow at her. She didn't move, but neither did she give in gracefully.
'Why fix me? I'm here to be tortured, aren't I? That's what you want, isn't it? Revenge.' The violet petals of her eyes spat venomous fury. The woman looked so beautiful he wanted to paint and frame her.
'I'm going to fix you in order to break you properly. Breaking bones would be far too easy, Violetta. There are other torments that are far worse than physical trauma and pain. In order to experience them fully, you need to be in the best of health, my dear. The good news is that with a few drops of my blood inside you, that shoulder will be good as new within a day. I just need to set it straight.'
When she struggled against him, as he knew she would, he paralysed her from the neck down. When she immediately started spluttering obscenities at him, he wished he'd gone the whole hog and shut her down completely, but he needed to make sure he didn't make any mistakes and for that, he needed her conscious. If he made a mistake, she wouldn't be. Ignoring the copious threats and curses directed his way, he let his mind tunnel into her body and spread itself carefully over the area that needed to be repaired. There was lots of damage to keep him occupied. A comminute fracture, the bone broken in several places, was going to take some careful healing. Add to that muscle, nerve, and tissue damage, and it was going to keep him busy for the better part of a half hour. He began the painstaking process of putting each piece of sinew and fibre back in its rightful place. Shutting out her entertaining, but rather distracting diatribe, he applied himself to the intricate process of mending the break. Knitting together bone fragments, tendons, and ligaments, piece by tiny piece, required a great deal of concentration. It was such a mess the whole process took a little longer than he'd expected, nearly an hour in total, and at the end of his task, he was spent. Violetta, on the other hand, had barely gotten started but he knew of something that would shut her up quickly.
His fangs, which had been threatening to burst from his lips the whole time he had been close to her, due to her unique and all-consuming smell, were finally allowed free rein. Bringing his forearm up to his lips, he gently placed two puncture wounds in his flesh. His venom easily broke through the hard casing of his body and he felt his tongue lock as blood began to well to the surface of the twin holes.
He placed the droplets of blood in front of her lips for a second, purely to enjoy the look of horror that resided there. 'See? I don't have to break bones to torture and torment you. Tonight, Violetta, you shall drink blood. My blood, and it will be a sweet agony all of its own. But you'll find out why later. For now, drink and heal yourself, my sweet.' Her lips contorted instantly in repulsion, but he simply overrode her natural instincts and commanded her body to obey him. Her eyes went wide with shock as her lips descended, gently sucking at the tiny glistening beads of burgundy fluid that he presented for her delectation.
Apparently the flavour was not to her taste, for she began to retch around his flesh, but he did not allow her the privilege of stopping. She needed to swallow at least a teaspoonful in order for his earlier work to be completed. Amidst several creative invectives, he managed to discern from her thoughts that his blood was 'disgusting', with a 'metallic or coppery' flavour. She couldn't quite decide which. Without a doubt she let him know that his particular taste was not to her liking. Too bad. She would drink until he told her to stop. Her face was a picture.
'That's enough.' He didn't need to pull her away, as he would have had to do with a fellow vampire. She immediately stopped as soon as his coercion had left her body. Finally the young woman was speechless, and not before time. She also looked exhausted. It had been a long day for a human, he supposed.
One of his servants walked in then, bearing a cup of English Earl Grey tea as he'd been ordered. Everything worked telepathically around here and pretty much flowed like clockwork. Knowing his master well, the servant carefully placed a bright flowery tray on the bedside table and departed as quickly and silently as he'd arrived.
Picking up the fine gilt-edged bone china cup, he blew gently on the wisps of steam that flowed upwards and cooled the boiling water down to a drinkable degree. Holding the cup of heavily sweetened fragrant tea to her lips he said, 'Drink.' She had no choice but to obey his command and the fluid streamed down her throat and removed the earlier source of her discontent. He was such a thoughtful thing, really.
After she'd drained the entire contents, bar the last few dregs of murky tealeaves that sloshed about in the bottom, he inclined his head slightly and asked, 'Better?'
Violetta looked at him very slowly through lidded eyes. She swallowed carefully and licked her lips before clearing her throat. 'Just peachy, thanks for asking. I've been kidnapped, forced to drink blood, chased, deflowered, manipulated, laughed at, and put on display, and let's not forget spanked and publically humiliated. It's been a top night all around, I think. Oh, I forgot the fainting.' The sarcastic barbs tripped off her tongue, one after the other without pause. 'Yes, absolutely top night. Let's do it again sometime.'
Martinet had to bite his lip in order to hide his smile. She really was quite something. Staring directly at her, a look of bored indifference gracing his features, he replied, 'We're just about to, actually, and I should point out that a lot of the above didn't actually happen. They were nothing more than figments of your imagination. You're still a virgin, darling. Would you like me to prove it to you?' The detached look had gone and his eyes gleamed with a hunger that scared her witless. Her face did not give her away, but her eyelashes fluttered rapidly and her bottom lip trembled.
'The games are about to begin, darling. You'd better buckle your seatbelt up and settle in for the ride.'
Chapter 14
A Bedtime Story
THERE WAS NO time to buckle up. Her whole body floated downwards, to be greeted by the soft crimson satin below. She tried to fight his hold over her, desperately trying to avoid the silky sheets that graced his bed, but her body was no longer under her command. She took a fleeting moment to wonder if it ever would be again.
'Do you want to fight me, Princess? Do you want to slam those little fists of yours against my chest and call me names?'
She didn't answer him. Her voice was locked away within her throat once more, at his request. He had obviously heard enough. Her job was to lay there and look pretty, she guessed. Oh dear God.
Black ropes slithered up her limbs and coiled around her flesh in a serpentine fashion, winding themselves tighter and tighter, tugging at her limbs. No.
'I want you spread wide open for me, Violetta. That way you'll be ready to be taken at a moment's notice. I'll also be able to see how aroused you are for me, and I think you like this body of mine, don't you, Vi?'
Her grunt of protest remained trapped inside her head, but she knew he heard it.
'Oh, I know you find me attractive. Now we're going to work on needs, wants, and desires. I'm going to train you to be desperate for the slightest touch my hand may choose to bestow upon your flesh. We're going to make you a hungry, panting, pathetic little slave who lives for nothing more than to pleasure and serve the capricious notions of her master. I've developed quite an active imagination over the years, I'll have you know. We're going to have so much fun together, you and I.'
The words were lost in her head, but they echoed over and over. The rope was reeling her arms and legs tightly into the wooden corners of the four-poster bed and she was beginning to resemble a large 'X' shape. Try as she might, bracing her arms and legs against the firm tugs did not help in the slightest. Finally she was splayed out to the ropes' satisfaction and the pressure against her wrists and ankles lessened slightly.
Martinet ran his index and middle finger up and around the small ridge of her ankle. He watched intently as she sucked in air. At this moment in time, her mind did not like his fingers upon her. Her body called her a liar though, and trembled at the ridiculously light touch.
His fingers dived under the glistening organza of her gown and crept up a shapely calf. Tiny steps that did little more than tickle her, but she got noticeably more nervous as they tiptoed higher and higher.
'You never thanked me for the arm, you know.'
Violetta told him, in no uncertain terms, just what he could do with his thank you.
'Tsk, tsk. A lady never swears.' He grinned at her, letting the pads of his fingers brush up against the delicate skin of her inner thigh. The nervous pounding of her heart and the flush of heat that turned her cheeks from alabaster to cherry almost instantly told him all he needed to know. His fingers wandered higher.
