Into The Shadows, page 29
Hera's glare was lethal, and with her embarrassment came a flood of the most obscene Romanian Dracula had heard – ever.
She swore violently at him, her accent and inflections flawless, each word articulated for maximum effect as she insulted not just him, but his ancestry and even his country. Dracula was not taken aback by her childish outburst – if anything, it entertained him further, though he did his best to remain civil and unmoved as she unleashed a good two weeks' worth of anger on him. But it was when she brought up the Turks and a slew of other foul obscenities, a nerve was struck and his smile turned into a scowl.
The Turks had always been a sore subject for him.
But she wasn't done yet. Words that he had never heard even the vilest of women utter were soon effortlessly rolling off of Hera's tongue and when she unexpectedly moved toward him, enraged and humiliated and ready to tear his face off with her bare hands, he pushed her back against the piano, towering over her.
"That is quite enough!" he shouted into her face, silencing Hera and causing Marishka to jump at the sound of his raised voice.
Hera, although in any other circumstance would be petrified at the thought of evoking his wrath, in this instance, she refused to be afraid of him. Her fury forbade such rationality. She glared boldly into his eyes, daring him to do his worst. He had already done it before.
Or, at least, that's what she assumed.
She didn't know just how bad Dracula could be. In truth, she had really only scratched the surface of what he was capable of.
Fortunately for her, this defiance of hers was something he still found relatively amusing, and the fact that their proximity had only increased reminded him of how fetching she looked in the outfit he was willing her to stay in.
Yes, that was his doing.
"Marishka, our guest and I need to have a little chat. Could you give us a moment alone?"
"Master, please don't hurt her-" the vampire began in Hera's defense, but the Count looked over at his bride, offering her a smile, though the look in his eyes remained dark.
"I give you my word, I will not harm her," he said, and she nodded, satisfied, obediently making her way towards the doors as the Count turned to look back at Hera. "…much," he finished for only Hera to hear and the two continued to stare at one another as Marishka sealed the two of them inside the room.
When the Count was certain all were out of hearing distance, his irises flamed a wild blue, an expression of which the mortal had never, ever seen. It was amazing and frightening to behold, and as much as she hated it, the way he was eating her up with his eyes made her burn. She tried to fight it, tried to forbid herself to feel such things, but she couldn't help it. His countenance made her heart skip and her insides turned to liquid. Oh how she prayed he couldn't tell what his gaze was doing to her.
Hera swallowed bravely and managed to speak up.
"Much?" she questioned, giving him the best conspicuous look she could muster, despite the agonizing pulsations between her legs. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"You're smart, Miss Garret," he replied, his face inching towards hers just slightly as he continued to stare into her eyes. Her attention diverted towards his nearing lips before going back to his eyes again. "Figure it out for yourself," came the lustful growl as he snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her body flush against his.
His willpower twisted and played with her mind, forcing her body to feel the urges she was frantically trying to suppress, painting her mind scarlet with erotic scenes bleeding from the pages of the most graphic of romance novels.
"Why am I still in this outfit?" she asked him in an unintentionally breathy, their proximity heightening the ache that was already naturally inside of her.
"You look ravishing, spitfire," he purred, his lips teasing her, always threatening to move in for a kiss, but never quite getting close enough. "I like looking at you," then came the confession he had not intended on giving her, and the look in her eyes reminded him of that.
"Really?" she asked, staring avidly at his mouth, absently moistening her lips. Her breath was hot and heavy as her heart continued to race, something in the back of her mind fully aware of the web he was tangling her in… she should have cared, but she didn't.
"Oh yes," he whispered, his voice a dark husk. "You've been avoiding me, Miss Garret. Are you really so angry with me?"
"Not really," she breathed, voice hitching when he wrapped her arm around his neck before smoothing his palm down and along her side. "I just wanted to make you suffer."
His chest vibrated in a rich chuckle as he leaned in a little closer.
"You naughty woman."
And then he was kissing her.
And God forgive her, she loved it.
Wanted it—and more.
All rational thought screamed at her, telling her that he was toying with her mind again, and she knew it was true. But a part of her didn't care.
His kisses seemed to erase all cares from her mind, and when he used his tongue, she went hot right down to her toes. Every coherent thought, every sensible argument that this was a bad idea, fled her mind.
The only thing that remained was the sensation.
The way he made her feel: wanted beyond all reason.
There was more than lust behind this onslaught; she could taste it. It was heady, and it was too powerful to resist. This man, this terrible, glorious, alarmingly powerful man made her feel wanted.
And she wanted him.
Had from the moment she set eyes on him… maybe even before, she was unsure.
But all sanity left her as she held him back, allowing him to plunder her mouth without protest.
She went to twist her arms around his neck, to bring him closer to her, but he grabbed her wrists and held them steadfast, not permitting her to touch him. Although the action took her by surprise, she still opened to him, kissing him with as much passion as she could muster, and with as much hunger as he was kissing her.
God, it was so good. So unbelievably good.
Dracula pushed her back against the piano and forced her to lean against it, her head tilted up and back as if she were drinking deep and his tongue dove in for more of her filling taste. There was something about her as he kissed her, something changing inside of him—his incentives, his motives. What had started out as a game was turning into a dangerous and bewildering desire to please someone other than himself.
He was so savage, so aggressive, so intense… and Hera melted beneath the man that he was with his powerful hands holding her weak and pitiful wrists, forbidding her to touch him the way she wanted to.
Why was he doing this?
Was he toying with her?
Did he mean any of it?
Her mind was awash in conflict and Dracula could sense it.
He hated her confusion, hated the silent drone she had been for the past few weeks. He didn't want to apologize for what he had done, because truth be told, he wasn't sorry – not entirely, anyway. But he didn't want her to hate him anymore.
He wanted the fiery, defiant, intelligent Hera back, the one who was turning to liquid in his arms.
Her body was young; he could feel it as he pressed her harder to him. Her breasts were slightly firm and perky smashed against his chest. They had barely been touched or fondled from what he could sense. His hands itched to change that, but he resisted, knowing that he couldn't move too fast. She'd be furious for him kissing her as it was, as soon as he let her have her mind back.
So to keep him sane, he sated himself by continuing to kiss her. He even nibbled her jaw every now and then, forcing her head farther back till her chin pointed to the sky and the most beautiful whimpers vibrated in her throat and escaped her pulsating lips.
"Are you still mad at me?" he breathed, asking her subconscious, not the defiant mortal who'd certainly lie to him.
"Not really," came her repeated response from earlier.
"Not really?" he clarified teasingly before kissing her again. "Hera, either you are, or you're not. Which is it?"
Hera suddenly licked the length of his throat before biting his jaw in return, her hips moving slowly against him. He knew he should stop her, to regain his slipping control of the situation, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He wanted to see what she would do.
"I don't know," was her dreamy reply and Dracula sighed heavily.
Well, she wasn't mad at him, at least not right now… but everything wasn't perfect between them either.
He'd have to fix that.
Later.
Slowly and with great care, Dracula began to release Hera's will while cautiously ceasing his kisses and backing away from her slowly, despite the pleas her eyes sent him.
"Don't stop," she whispered.
But he did stop, and when it was done, Hera was in her normal clothes again with an unreadable expression on her face.
It took a moment for everything to register and Dracula almost took her silence as a good sign, that is, until she slapped him hard across the face. The action was so unexpected, he didn't even have time to stop it.
Her hand collided with his cheek with a deafening smack – and it actually hurt.
Hera wasn't sorry she did it and Dracula figured that he had it coming, so he remained composed and didn't react. But when she tried a second time to strike him again, he stopped her.
"Don't push it, Miss Garret," he warned, but she only glared at him.
"Don't push it? Don't push it!?" she shouted at him. "How DARE you!"
Dracula stood like an immovable wall as Hera attempted to shove him away, but it was useless. Her strength could never even dream of surpassing his. Not by a long shot.
"You know, if you wanted me to open up to you so bad, you're doing one hell of a job of pushing me in the complete OPPOSITE direction, you fucking bastard!"
His eyes narrowed.
"Watch your tongue, Miss Garret. Or else."
"Or else what? You'll bite it off?!" she tested.
With a huff she was soon stalking off towards the door, thinking of every curse word in her vocabulary until his voice reached her ears.
"Your language, woman," he advised her, turning to look back at her, meeting her venomous gaze. "I can still hear you."
Stay out of my fucking head and you won't have to listen to it! she screamed into his mind by thinking it. He turned fully to face her, his glare matching hers.
Seeing as how our minds are bound by our blood, I frankly don't have too much of a choice, he shot back.
She grabbed hold of the door and threw it open before pointing a treacherous finger at him.
"I am going to make you regret ever connecting our minds, Count Dracula! Mark my words. I will make you regret it!" she shouted at him now, her voice echoing throughout the entire room.
"Consider them marked," he snapped back, watching as she let out a growl of frustration before slamming the door behind her, marching away.
As soon as she was gone, he broke character and exhaled loudly before touching the cheek she had slapped.
It still stung.
That kiss, though. That positively sinful kiss still pulsated on his lips. Her mouth-watering taste still lingered in his mouth. And the devil forgive him, he wanted to taste more of her.
He shouldn't have done that, he thought to himself, rubbing the sting out of his cheek. But then again, at least he had gotten fiery Hera to make an appearance, and he hoped he'd be able to see more of her in the days to come.
XXI
Hera's Revenge
When Hera had stormed out of the room that evening, she had immediately retreated to her bedroom, only to slam the door as hard as she possibly could before locking it, throwing herself dramatically onto the bed, and screaming into a pillow.
When her moment of madness was over, two specific thoughts entered her mind.
The first was how utterly irate she was with Dracula, not to mention how completely humiliated she felt.
The second, and more lasting impression was what in God's name had she gotten herself into, threatening him like that?
Hera didn't even know how she was going to get even with him for toying with her as he had. She admitted for just a brief moment how utterly incredible that kiss had been, though. It was the best she had ever had, hands down, no competition. Not even Velkan had been able to elicit such reckless passion in her.
Never before had she felt so wanted, so desired, and so on fire – even if he didn't truly mean it, even if he was just messing with her, manipulating her. But the mere recollection made a warm heat pool in her belly and her cheeks flushed.
Before she could linger on the memory for too long, however, she quickly remembered that the Count could be reading her mind without her knowing, so she cursed his name, blocked the pleasurable memory out, and focused all of her attention on how to get even with him.
Needless to say, nothing ever really came to mind.
How does one get "even" with a four-century-old vampire who also happens to have unrestrained access to one's thoughts?
Hera would have to do something relatively harmless, something that wouldn't earn any kind of major punishment or repercussion. But it had to be effective.
Satisfying.
Something that would infuriate him to no end.
She wanted to make him to seethe, to make his blood boil...to make him thoroughly regret that he had ever bonded them in the first place.
Yes, messing about with the Count's temper, having that kind of influence over him—it was a power trip. A dangerous one, but one of the few she had, and the thought of giving him a taste of his own medicine was something Hera could not resist.
The young woman had never imagined herself as the purposefully confrontational type, but when it came to getting the Count mad, she fit the bill flawlessly. She wanted to make him react, wanted to see how far she could push him, just as he pushed her; and for the present moment, it was all she had against him.
Hera didn't speak so much as a word to the Count for the next two days. In fact, she completely ignored him, acting as if he wasn't even in the room, despite how hard he tried to converse with her. She'd even give him the brush-off if his brides were present, content with talking to them, but if Dracula tried to participate in the conversation, she acted as if he hadn't even spoken.
Her behavior naturally displeased him and it didn't take long for the man to storm out of the room with a huff defeat, much to Hera's pleasure, even if a small part of her felt guilty for being so quarrelsome and rude. That's why on the third day, she lightened up a bit. She never apologized for how she had acted. Her pride forbade it and Dracula was very much the same. It was almost comical how alike they were, but if anyone had noticed, no one uttered a word.
On a particular Thursday evening, the two were in the Count's library, not really saying much of anything.
Hera had an Alexandre Dumas novel in hand as she lounged casually back on the sofa, silently reading while Dracula sat at a desk doing God knew what. Naturally, the woman didn't care, but the silence permitted her the opportunity to privately observe him for a moment or two, seemingly undetected.
Hera stealthily moved the book away from her face and allowed her eyes to slowly rise up to look over at Count Dracula, situated in a comfortable high-backed chair, pouring over some unknown documents. She never knew what he was working on when he spent those long hours in his office or at a desk in the library, but whenever she crossed his path during those few instances, he always had this look about him, something in his expression and air that he hadn't possessed when she first met him.
In truth, Hera hadn't really noticed the subtle change in him until she had started staying in his house.
His eyes, things Hera found entertaining to create metaphors for, were perceptive and focused, as if nothing could escape his notice. A strange but rather cute crease would appear in his brow whenever he read something, as if he had to concentrate when translating different languages silently to himself.
The beautiful liquid eventide of his hair was always pulled back, with those defiant strands hanging loosely in his face, making him appear to be more… enticing was the word she often seemed to choose. He was like a forbidden fruit, candy for the eyes, and always in black. It was the same outfit every evening – or at the very least, a variation on a theme – but the cut complimented him extremely well.
Her eyes then fell to his mouth and the memory of their last kiss brought pleasurable knots to twist in her womb. His lips had to be the most beautiful part of him she had seen thus far. They were on the thin side, but soft, gently parted as he breathed in the useless oxygen only to exhale slowly. She watched from a distance as the tip of his tongue crept out just slightly to moisten his lips and Hera swallowed hard.
God his mouth is so fucking beautiful she thought to herself, groaning internally as memories of what that mouth could do to her now in the forefront of her mind.
Even though he had to control her mind in order to get her submit, she enjoyed it. She'd deny it every time if he asked her, but she enjoyed it. Hera could distinctly remember how his lips felt pressed against hers, how he drove into her mouth with such wanton abandon, how he kissed her as if she were the one thing keeping him alive.
Hera's attention eventually returned back to her book, her eyes scanning over the words but not reading any of them, her mind too agreeably engaged elsewhere.
Oh, how she wanted him to kiss her again, and she replayed the incident in her mind once more, never noticing the sly grin that curved the Count's face as he continued with his work, never looking up at her.
"You seem to have a remarkable memory, Miss Garret," he commented, pulling her from her detailed reverie as she looked back at him, his eyes still having not met her own. "And I'm flattered you think my mouth is… so fucking beautiful, as you put it, although I wish you wouldn't use such derogatory language to describe me. Simply 'beautiful' will suffice."
Hera's whimsical impression of the vampire suddenly turned for the worst as she practically screamed at him.
