Wordless: new adult paranormal romance (Age of Blood Book 1) Page 2

  Hope for what, exactly?

  He watched her getting dressed. One glance at her wardrobe revealed that everything in there was either velvet or silk; dramatic crap undead country bumpkins loved so much.

  No jeans. No yoga pants. Jeez, was the girl actually forced to walk naked everyday unless there was a party? From what he’d seen, yeah, probably.

  The dress she put on had one function: making men hard. It worked.

  It was poured on her frame and hugged her dips and curves. She wasn’t voluptuous – her thighs were about the size of his forearms – but accentuated like that, he saw that she indeed had curves. Sexy ones. A taut, firm, and perky ass. Small breasts, set off by a tiny waist and flaring hips. In his youth, they would have been described as birthing hips; now, if he said that out loud, Jessica and most of the vamps he knew would do their best to make his life a nightmare until he begged for mercy. Throw a rock in any Coven, and you’d hit fifty die-hard feminists.

  Male and female vampires were equal in strength – or rather, their power had nothing to do with their sex. The vamps had resented humans for centuries, because to them, women were considered inferior. One of the main changes that had occurred when they’d become the ruling species on Earth was the rise of the feminist movement.

  Obviously, it hadn’t made it to Riverville.

  There was a huge slit along the leg of the little temptress in front of him, and for one instant, he imagined pushing both sides back, and feasting on her until they were both sated.

  Wake up, he told himself. She is off limits. After a beat, he mentally amended that statement, adding for now.

  The problem was what he read in her eyes; the reluctant interest. She blushed and wet her lips after ogling him, not making his struggle any easier.

  Dammit. Some of the slaves he’d bought in the past had been plenty appealing, but as a rule, he’d never screwed any of them, even after their rehabilitation, even when they’d asked.

  No point in lying to himself: he knew she’d be the exception. His desire for her was too consuming, almost visceral. He didn’t want her, he needed her. He’d have her on her hands and knees, on top, beneath him, backwards and sideways…

  But not now. Not even anytime this year, either. No matter, he could wait. Time was irrelevant, at his age.

  “Ready?”

  “Should I pack anything?”

  Good question.

  “If there is anything you’d like to keep.”

  She thought it out, glancing towards her bookshelf. He glanced through the titles, taking in an odd collection of classic and modern romance.

  “We’ll replace those.”

  They weren’t wasting time on a collection that was worth less than his shirt.

  “I have nothing else,” she replied simply.

  “Perfect.” Or rather a little bit sad, but convenient. “Hurry up.”

  He had no intentions of staying in this place longer than necessary.

  William really hated the way things were run in the country. Everywhere, he smelt and heard the fear and the despair of broken souls.

  He started to walk, but ten steps in, he had to stop and sigh.

  The girl was still at the other end of the corridor, running after him as fast as she could.

  There goes nothing.

  He returned to her and bent down to wrap one arm under her knees, and the other on her back; then, he lifted her and got the hell out of there, doing his best to ignore how small, soft, and precious she felt against him.

  And failing. Fuck. He had to force himself to stop his grin every single time he stole a glance.

  His good humor was short lived. Jessica had pulled the Rolls Royce around, and Mark was holding his door open. William saw the soldier’s smirk and the look in his eyes when he took in the woman in his arms.

  Mark’s hand went straight up, aiming for one of her legs; he intended to touch her without asking, again.

  His first infraction would be overlooked; it had all been part of a show. The country worked that way, and back when he’d ordered that everyone ought to stay professional and respect the laws during their investigations, they’d consistently hit against brick walls; the local lords got tight lipped, suspicious, and ended up balking at the slightest provocation.

  So, they’d had to change their strategy. He’d discussed it with the other Knights, and they’d come up with a reform stating that soldiers were excused for promiscuous – and unlawful – behaviors, while on official duties.

  As they say: when in Rome…

  From what he’d seen, the foot soldiers just loved to perform the role of villains, sadly. Those who hated it, like Jessica, were the exception rather than the rule.

  Until today, William had just rolled his eyes, indulgently blaming it on their youth. Right now? It was lucky his hands were taken, or he might have ripped Mark’s heart from his chest.

  “Don’t,” he warned him coldly, before he’d moved more than a centimeter. “Remember your place, soldier.”

  Mark seemed confused; probably because William didn’t use that tone as often as he should have. He was known for his leniency; his idea of right and wrong wasn’t quite in line with everyone else’s.

  “Excuse me. I thought the slave…”

  Enough of that.

  Shifting the girl to prop her up on one of his elbows, he used his newly free hand to grab his underling’s throat, and effortlessly lifted him from the ground.

  William turned to the girl, and her gasp revealed he almost certainly looked just as alluring as a zombie wielding a bloody axe, right about now.

  Great. His eyes had gone crazy again.

  He was pretty pissed off, but not even remotely threatened, so they’d probably just darkened to midnight blue.

  “What’s your name, little woman?” he asked, as gently as he could.

  He barely heard her stuttered reply.

  “Fay,” he repeated. Quite fitting, for someone as small as a pixie.

  William turned back to the soldier struggling in his grasp. He was a newbie, which meant he needed to breathe almost as much as a human; he was doubtlessly one minute away from dying. Not permanently; one of the perks of being a vampire was how hard it was to get one of them to give up the ghost.

  “Mark, meet Fay. Not the slave, not even the human. Fay. Got that?”

  He choked something that did resemble a yes, so William dropped him on the floor.

  “Good. Let’s go, shall we?”

  He carefully lowered Fay on the floor and indicated the passenger seat.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, before biting her lip, as though she was regretting daring to open her mouth.

  He smiled encouragingly.

  “Home.” Then, realizing that probably didn’t mean a lot to her, he clarified: “New York City.”

  Back to his domain.

  His hunt for Adrian was far from over, but he saw no issue in putting things on hold for a few days. Firstly, the man might drop his guard a little, if he relented. Secondly, he knew better than to bring Fay with him – or worse, to send her to his home by herself. She’d be gobbled up whole within a week, if he didn’t clarify her position right off the bat.

  And what position is that?

  He sighed. Generally, finding an occupation for his new recruits was the easiest part. He had none for her. Everything in him revolted against training her small, fragile hands to clean surfaces – or engage in any other strenuous activity. Administrative tasks would suit her better, if she had the brains for it, which meant that he was going to have to create a somewhat relevant opening suiting her skills.

  Unless…

  He focused on her, ready to ask her age, but his thought was cut off when he saw how distressed she was. Her eyes betrayed apprehension, although she was trying to contain herself. Before he’d consciously chosen to do anything about it, one of his hands was gently stroking her back through the awful fabric.

  “Shhh,” he breathed, hoping t
o reassure her. “You’ll fit right in, pixie.”

  It was a good thing he didn’t make a habit of attempting to reassure damsels in distress. Total. Failure.

  That woman hadn’t shown one facial expression since he’d met her, regardless of what his peers had been doing to her body, and despite the fact that a stranger had just bought her, but now, she’d started to cry. She didn’t turn into a sobbing mess, thank fuck, but there was a single tear running down her face. That was enough. He practically pushed her in the back seat and closed the door as fast as he could.

  He might be an all-powerful ancient renowned for his brutality, but William Drake was not equipped for dealing with crying women.

  Fuck. He needed a cigarette.

  Fay was terrified.

  All her life, Vincent had been a familiar shadow. She’d known there would come a time when he would call her to his home. She knew that there, she was to obey his every command, or die like her mother and father: sucked dry. When she’d been old enough to understand, they’d told her he would touch her first, and fuck her eventually. For most, the transition from one action to the next took minutes – the touching was barely a prelude to the fucking – but as an AB neg, they’d guessed she would be kept pure a few days; virgins tasted better, apparently. That meant she was champagne, chocolate cake, and whip cream with a cherry on top.

  They’d been right, although they’d underestimated Vincent’s taste for her blood – or his distaste for her plain features. She’d made it over a thousand days, and he still hadn’t defiled her; she’d come to believe she might be completely spared.

  If she hadn’t been, she’d known that Vincent wasn’t like Adrian, at least; he just liked pleasure, not pain. There were worse vampires out there.

  That future she’d believed set in stone had been completely wiped in one instant and now, she had no idea what would be in store for her. She knew nothing of the ancient; what if he was like Adrian? What if he was worse?

  They say better the devil you know…

  Eventually, she forced herself to breathe out and see things rationally.

  There wasn’t a thing she could do about what had occurred, so there was no point in beating herself up about it. Her home – and her future – had hardly been all that, in any case.

  She’d been terrified of Vincent. She’d seen him snapping necks without so much as a second of hesitation. She’d done her best to be perfect at all times… but if she displeased him for any reason, there was no doubt in her mind that he would have killed her. Hell, he would have anyway, eventually.

  On the other hand, she wasn’t frightened of the ancient. It might have been stupid, but when they’d been alone in her room, she’d felt nothing, past the waves of lust she couldn’t dial down. Her life was too sensual for her body to know better.

  The lust was a new factor. Normally, she wasn’t aroused until they forced it upon her by stroking her just the right way – no body could fail to be awakened by the right caresses, whether they desired to or not.

  But watching him was enough for her insides to clench.

  Stupid. You’re just stupid.

  Someone opened the passenger door up front, and the young stranger got in, before turning to her and flashing her a threatening, predatory smile that made her flinch.

  Ok, maybe she wasn’t that stupid; her alarm bells worked just fine with that guy.

  Then, the door next to her opened and she went right back to drooling and questioning her sanity.

  “Done crying?”

  Her eyes widened; had she really be crying? Fay didn’t do the whole weeping thing; it wasn’t worth it. If her master had heard of it and been displeased, she might have earned a punishment.

  A lot of girls got punished in Vincent’s home – but not her. She knew just how to behave.

  Fay nodded, and he got in, sitting down on the other side; then the car started and pulled away.

  The silence was quite uncomfortable; after a while, the ancient broke it.

  He removed his jacket first, before rolling one sleeve; then unexpectedly, he bit down his own forearm.

  Fay had never seen a vampire doing anything like it before; she watched his self-mutilation with a morbid interest, captivated, until he caught her at it.

  Look down, she told herself. She knew she should have looked down.

  She didn’t, meeting his eyes head on instead. They’d gone back to sky blue, rather than the dark hue they’d adopted earlier. In both cases, they were pretty mesmerizing, which explained why she just couldn’t stop gawking.

  The ancient must have been used to keeping girls spellbound, because he just smiled before extending his muscular forearm towards her.

  “Suck me,” he said with a smile.

  She’d heard that order before. Fay couldn’t help glancing down towards his dress pants, although he’d meant something very different – and weirdly, she felt it was even more decadent.

  “Why?”

  What was wrong with her today?

  The word was hesitant, weak, barely audible, but she’d said it nonetheless, and there was no taking it back.

  The appropriate response should have been to shut up, open her mouth, and suck. Questioning her master wasn’t her place.

  Why had she?

  Because you know you can get away with it.

  Fay knew the theory was true as soon as her mind hazarded it. She wasn’t sure what it said about her. Was she a brat at heart? The idea almost made her chuckle, and a small, wayward smile did escape her.

  The ancient grinned in response, before shocking her by actually giving her an answer.

  “You have a few recent wounds, and my blood will heal you. I’m surprised you don’t know that?”

  She’d had access to a computer, but her history had been monitored, so she hadn’t been free to research everything she would have liked to know; still, like anyone, she was on Facebook and there were plenty of groups where she’d read rumors.

  The healing property of vampire blood had been mentioned; but she took things she read online with a pinch of salt. Hell, some swore vampires could read minds, fly, predict the future – and a whole lot of stupid stuff they’d probably picked up from paranormal romance, rather than facts.

  “Then again, it’s not that unexpected,” he amended. “Drinking from a vampire will make your blood taste differently – probably not as refined. Temporarily, of course.”

  Fay had to stop herself from snorting; no wonder Vincent had never bothered to heal any of them, then.

  She dropped her lips on his gash and, as she was instructed, sucked. Her grimace was immediate; it tasted salty, rusty, and not that great. Like blood, in short.

  For some reason though, she felt moisture pool between her legs. It was all she could do to stop herself from begging for an orgasm.

  Apparently, she should have paid more attention to the gossips. What she’d read about the aphrodisiac properties of vampire blood was also true.

  Healing took all of ten heartbeats. Every recent bite on her skin burnt, submitting her to an abrupt, unanticipated, and scorching hot pain so acute she screamed out loud; and then, there was nothing.

  She looked down at her skin and gasped. For the first time in years, it was completely devoid of puncture marks.

  They’d never scarred her; the vampires just grazed her. Cece, however, was covered in huge, dark, ugly scars. Fay fought the knot in her throat that always formed when she thought of her cousin.

  Cece didn’t like her all that much, and Fay felt too much pity towards her for them to have built a relationship, but she still was her only family.

  “Thank you.”

  Another new thing; she’d never had a reason to thank a vampire before. Sure, she’d had to say it. But for the first time, it was heartfelt.

  “Don’t mention it. Now come here.”

  That was it. He’d bite her now. She obeyed with an alacrity she was not putting down to eagerness.

  To her surp
rised, however, his hand didn’t dip into her dress; no, instead, it went to her neck, to the collar she continuously wore, even in the shower. There was a lock on it, but the vampire simply tore through the leather and metal, effortlessly.

  “There. Much better.”

  Fay was staring, dumbstruck. Where was the replacement? The collar with his name on it?

  Then, she thought that perhaps he didn’t have it on him today. Still, why had he already removed her old one? No one would know she was a slave, now.

  “Now that’s sorted, how about you tell me what you know of Adrian Klein.”

  Three

  Vincent had just asked for a million, which had reinforced his first opinion: the guy wasn’t all that bright. In New York City, a virgin’s first fuck could easily be sold for that, at least. Twice as much in L.A. – they were even harder to come by. As an untouched AB neg, little Fay was priceless.

  Regardless, William would have paid ten times that just to get any sort of info on Adrian. Everyone he was associated with was tight lipped, because they knew what kind of retaliation they invited if the ruthless lord ever heard that they’d betrayed him.

  The girl knew something; the way her heartbeat had sped up when she’d heard Vincent’s lie had revealed that much.

  William didn’t doubt he might have wasted his cash, her info was likely to be irrelevant, but he was ready to take the risk. And to be frank? There was a good chance he would have purchased her anyway. He always tried to get some innocent out of the way, before the shit hit the fan.

  Now that he had witnessed what happened in Vincent’s home, he was going to report him. Normally, an investigator would have come out to check the allegations, but William was a Drake: his word was all that was needed.

  They were busy, so it wasn’t going to be right away, but in a month or two a clearing crew would be sent out to apprehend Vincent and his goons, and free the humans in his home.

  Sounds great, right?

  Well, it wasn’t – for the servants and slaves, anyway. In most cases, over half of the humans died during raids, generally killed by their masters. They probably thought that they were wiping the evidence by silencing those who could serve as witness against them.