Called to Order (9 page)

Her body continued to respond, yet her stirring consciousness fell immediately back under a dreamlike haze. His palms coasted down the sides of her trim belly as his fingertips peeled the thin cotton down her hips. His breath caught as he revealed the apex of her thighs. Her scent had his eyes rolling back in his head as if he were under the fog of a delicious opiate. He pulled the thin garment down her thighs, over her knees, then past her ankles until her legs were completely bare.

Grazing his palms back up her legs, he centered himself between her thighs, brought his face close to her sex, and breathed in her dewy scent. He had never seen a woman’s sex this closely before. Her soft pink folds were opening like a flower, the tiniest pearl of nectar seeping from deep within. Even there she smelled of honey, and he wanted to taste her. Making room for his broad shoulders he nudged her knees farther apart. He gently traced his thumb over her moist slit, gathering her dew and pressing into the tiny bud just below her downy curls. When his fingers made contact with this hidden gem, she let out a deep sigh and pulled her legs farther apart, opening up this intimate secret more for his inspection.

Suddenly aware of what he was doing, he stilled. It took all of his effort to force himself away from her. He would not take what she did not freely offer. He shut his eyes and breathed deeply in an attempt to calm his body’s raging instincts. Never had he fought such temptation.

He imagined his thumbs spreading her petals wide, how sweet her dew would taste washing over his tongue. He would tickle that tiny, sensitive bud hidden just beyond the seam of her folds. Adam’s eyes opened as he heard his mate moan. Her hips lifted, her heels digging deeply into the soft bedding. It was as if she could feel what he was fantasizing about doing to her.

He watched her closely from his place at the foot of the bed, careful not to touch her, and imagined taking her little, pink pearl into his mouth. His mouth went dry and his cock twitched as she arched into his invisible caress. Her breath seemed to sing out of her lungs. Amazing.

He let the fantasy play through his mind. Imagining his mouth pressing tiny kisses over her sex, licking and sucking at spots she seemed to pull the most enjoyment from. As her fragile ribcage began to rise and fall, her breathing growing more labored, he fought the temptation to take himself in hand and gain a degree of relief. His cock grew unbearably hard as he sat back and watched moisture pool at her narrow slit. He wanted to be inside of her, claim her as his own.

Adam considered waking her, but knew she would be frightened to find him there in her home. She was aroused to a fever pitch, her body moving and begging for some form of release. He should have never toyed with her when he knew he would not be able to finish what he had started without actually penetrating her. Then he suddenly realized there was another option.

Adam didn’t think too long about what he was doing. He would not have her without her consent, yet they each were desperate for some form of satisfaction. He had no script or preconceived plan. In all honesty, he had only come here to protect his mate and get a better look at her. But now, now that her essence was clouding his senses, he felt drugged and unable to stop himself from sampling at least this part of her. His instincts kicked in, and he let his body direct his motions.

He licked the artery running under the lily-white flesh of her thigh. It took all of his restraint not to turn slightly and taste her flower. He ran his tongue along his sharp fang wishing he were running it over the petals of her sex, tasting the true sweetness of her nectar.

Her body jerked as if she were feeling his every thought. She began to rock her hips, her motions becoming frantic, her breath and sighs coming out in pants, as if her body was begging for more. He was torturing them both, continuing this game.

Suddenly a new sensation grabbed hold of him, so unexpected he nearly jolted off the bed. His spine curled back, his mouth opening on a cry, as indescribable ecstasy grabbed hold of him. It was her. She was taking control of the dream. Warmth seemed to seep into his cock from out of nowhere. He felt soft heat clamp down on his length as if holding him somewhere, yet there was nothing touching him.

There seemed to be an invisible line of energy shared between them, a steady tug and pull. Pressure built deep inside of him as if reaching for something. She seemed to be reaching for something as well.

Her head turned and her bottom rose. When her body did not meet the contact it sought, her brow crinkled over her closed eyes in frustration. Mesmerized, he watched her small hand reach between her thighs and find her sex. Her knees closed, locking her fingers in place as a guttural moan of pleasure escaped her mouth.

He shut his eyes, praying to hold onto his honor. Her hand that was not between her undulating hips began to claw at her neck and breasts. He fought to deny himself the same pleasure his mate took.

She began to cry out, small keening sounds of need. She needed more. He needed more. Feminine cries of pleasure filled the room. Wherever she was heading he wanted to take her there.

He became an animal, driven by the unexpected need to own her completely. His mind shouted
mine!
Yet he knew he could not mate with her while she was unconscious, no matter how much his inner demon screamed at him that it was his right. He shut his eyes as his breath sawed in and out of his chest, and that was when he scented her blood rushing under the almost-translucent flesh of her thigh.

His eyes, dilated to their fullest, more animal than human, flashed open and focused on that fine vein. His ears honed in to the thrum of her warm blood pumping and pulsing just a centimeter away. Under her cries he heard her heart beating a fast tattoo of ecstasy. His body closed the last remaining distance that separated them. His tongue shot past his fangs caressing the flesh of her thigh. Knowing he could not yet claim her completely, he needed to steal just one taste of her. He needed to pacify his control before it snapped.

His mouth opened wide and in a flash of movement his fangs were embedded deeply into the warm flesh of her inner thigh, her blood quenching his appetite, flowing down his throat and mixing with his own. The cry that escaped her was pure, undiluted pleasure. Her leg muscles tightened. Adam glutted himself on her thick richness and felt his lips curve proudly around her plump flesh as his mate shattered beneath him, seeming to find the satisfying end she had been searching for.

Chapter 9

Annalise had never awakened so disoriented in her entire life. Images of her dreams came rushing back to her with such vividness she felt physically cornered by them. What was going on with her subconscious? She was like a Freudian wet dream. Even her body seemed to ache as if her dreams had actually worked her muscles through the motions of her suddenly active fantasy-induced mind. She wasn’t sure who the stranger of her dreams was, but she was positive it wasn’t Kyle.

She stretched and winced at the tenderness between her hips. Perhaps a wet dream was exactly what she’d had. She frowned and tried to remember the details of her dreams. First she recalled the most divine attention being paid to her body. She wasn’t clear on the setting of the dream, only that the softest lips God ever created had made a meal out of her. She felt as though she had been sipped and savored like a fine wine until she was transformed into champagne, bursting onto the tongue of some mysterious lover. She felt depleted, deliciously drained of every last lusty drop.

She could vaguely recall being brought down from this precipice of ecstasy slowly, cradled and caressed by large hands and gently loving touches. Then she was alone. The emptiness where her dream had been surrounded her like a weight pressing on her heart and sinking her into an abyss of loneliness.

From there her imaginings only grew darker. She had been in a tepid body of water and it was dark. The water reached to her ribs, her breasts only grazing the still pool when she took a step. She could not see the water’s edge, no shore to escape to. Claustrophobia began to set in from the overwhelming sense of darkness, nothingness. Then she felt something tickle her leg.

She looked at the black water but saw nothing. It was as black as the air around her, almost confusing her perception of how high the water touched on her skin. She yipped at the small pinch that plucked at her hip. There was more tickling, the water seemed to come alive with tiny beings twirling and circling throughout her legs. She felt another nip at her flesh and gasped. Taking a step away from the small, offensive stinger, she tried to calm her nerves.

The sound of her breathing and the quiet ripple of water lapping at her breasts was all she could hear. Suddenly a sharp sting pricked her ankle. She cried out and balanced on one foot. Bringing her sore ankle closer to the surface, she reached into the water and rubbed the tender spot. She felt a quick sting on her wrist and she jerked her arm out of the water. Blood trickled down her arm. Diluted with water, it ran freely down to her elbow.

She frowned and washed the red smear away. It was like a nick from a razor, one that bleeds generously with no sign of clotting. She located the puncture and saw two tiny pinpricks. Then she felt another bite, this one to her belly, then another to her thigh, and another to her rear. They started to come so suddenly that Annalise began to hyperventilate and panic.

Something was biting her, something with little sharp teeth. “What is it?” she screamed, her words echoing back at her out of the blackness as if laughing at her, mocking her panic. Suddenly the water was not as black. Tiny fish swam around her. Or more accurately, she was wading in a school of fish. They looked the size of minnows, yet had longer, eel-like bodies and whiskers. She watched in horror as one after another began to latch onto her flesh, puncturing her with small prickling teeth, and drinking her blood. She screamed and began to flail in the shallow water. The pain was so small but so complete it was almost desensitizing her skin, sending her into a state of shock. She heard laughter, deep, facetious male laughter.

At the mocking sound, she grew angry. Her survival instincts kicked in as she began to pluck the little bloodsuckers from her flesh, wincing and grunting like a woman in labor, only able to breathe through the pain.

“That’s it, little one, fight back. I love to see you
grex
and
rootsh.
”

Her eyes frantically sought out a face for the voice but were surrounded by only blackness again. “What are they? Who are you?” she demanded.

The laughter mocked her struggles again. “They are candiru, my little pet. And they tell me your blood is as sweet as ambrosia.”

The biting became so overwhelming she could hardly focus on what she was hearing. She began to simply scream, over and over again until the nightmare suddenly disappeared and she was being cradled in warm arms, shuddering and sobbing from the ordeal. She was not awake, yet no longer trapped in that horrid place. This new dream was warm and comforting. She heard the voice again, only this time it was soothing, without a trace of malice. “Shh,
ainsicht
, hush now. It was only a dream. Only a dream.”

She let the strong arms rock and soothe her until her body calmed. She knew she was dreaming but was somehow trapped within that place between being asleep and awake, weighed down by exhaustion, yet alert enough to know real tears were slipping past her heavy eyelids. Eventually her cognitive mind let go and floated to a more peaceful place. She did not return to the darkness of her nightmare but found herself surrounded by images of rolling, green fields and rays of sunshine forming prisms of light through white, fluffy clouds.

Annalise shivered at the memory. For as delectable as her dream was, her nightmare was as frightening. There was such a sense of evil surrounding that imaginary dark place, nothing like the warm sensations she felt in her more pleasurable fantasies. And what were those things called? Candiru? Did such a creature even exist?

Looking at the clock, she noticed she still had a few hours before she had to get ready for work. Annalise climbed out of bed and went to make coffee. As she poured the water into the reservoir she did the pee-pee dance at her small kitchen counter. She quickly placed the pot under the drip and hit start before she bolted into the bathroom. As she finished emptying her bladder she stood and pulled her panties up. When the fabric glided over a sensitive spot on her inner thigh, she frowned.

Lifting her leg, she placed her foot on the sink and ran a finger over the sore spot. “What the…?” There were two small puncture wounds, nothing she had noticed the day before, but they seemed days old, as if the skin had already begun healing. They were more like bruises than gashes. Did she scrape herself in her sleep? Her mind flashed back to the tiny fish in her nightmare, and she shivered. Shaking her head and calling herself a drama queen she dropped her foot and padded back into her living room.

She booted up her laptop then retrieved a mug from her cabinet. Once she had her coffee in hand she got comfortable on her sofa and pulled the computer onto her lap. She knew she should be studying her notes for her final, but somehow she found herself Googling the word
candiru
. She was surprised when the search engine actually generated a full page of results. She assumed she had invented the word. After clicking on Wikipedia, she gasped. Small fish, adults growing up to fifteen centimeters, found in the Amazon,
especially after large blood meal,
spike-like teeth assist in latching to its prey, face similar to that of a whiskered catfish. Annalise quickly scrolled down the page and froze when she found an image of the creature. It was just as the fish appeared in her nightmare. “What. The. Fuck?”

Freaked, she minimized the screen and opened another search. What was the name of the butterfly Kyle had told her about?
Maudereleckin
? She typed in her best guess but got nothing in the returned search results. Her finger tapped the delete key sending the curser backward in the search bar. She then typed the words
bloodsucking butterflies
and hit enter.

There it was,
Madrilenial
butterflies
. She clicked on images and her heart stopped. Just as she had dreamed two nights ago, the insect had veined, blood-red wings, tipped with orange, and one bold-white stripe. Backing up a page, she hit up Wikipedia again,
deadly butterfly, found in Spain, drinks from blood of cattle.
“Son of a bitch.”

She shut her laptop and stared across the room at nothing. How was she dreaming of things she had never heard of before? She didn’t watch TV at night, so it wasn’t like she had fallen asleep during some twisted documentary about bloodsucking bugs on Animal Planet. What the hell was going on with her? And if she had to dream about bloodsuckers why couldn’t she dream about Eric Northman or Edward Cullen? She was a
True Blood
and
Twilight
fan as much as the next heterosexual girl, but she couldn’t dream about sexy, fictional, fanged hotties, no, she had to dream about real-life, gross little leach fish and ugly, cattle-drinking butterflies. She suddenly squirmed as if her skin was crawling and decided to take a shower.

As she rinsed the soap from her body she examined the mark on her leg once more. Unbelievably, she had trouble finding the twin marks. If not for the tenderness of the area she would have never found the spot. It seemed to have healed immeasurably in the last thirty minutes. She wondered if she was going through some weird, Goth fantasy stage and imagined what was just a bruise on her leg to resemble a vampire bite. Completely fed up with herself, she hung her loofah back on the rack and angrily rinsed the conditioner from her hair. She needed to grow up and seriously get a grip.

Kyle was already at the bar when she arrived at quarter to eleven. The morning was rapidly reaching ungodly humidity and Annalise was grateful for the smoky central air once more. She stuffed her bag under the bar and retrieved her tray and apron. As she was tying her apron strings around her waist Kyle came up behind her and kissed her neck. For some reason she had an adverse reaction to the common gesture of affection.

“You’re early. Did you get some studying done this morning?”

Stepping out of the embrace she tried not to frown as she fumbled with the tie at her back. “Um, I didn’t really sleep well last night, so I figured I’d come in early. I was just distracted this morning and wasting time.”

He brushed her hands away, making quick work of tying the apron strings. In a husky voice he said, “I would have made sure you slept well if you were in my bed.”

“Yeah right.”

He turned her back around and smiled at her. “Well, not all night, but I would have made sure you were exhausted enough to sleep soundly. Hey, is that new perfume?”

She frowned and sniffed her skin. “No. I don’t have any perfume on.”

“You smell different.”

“Good or bad different?”

“I don’t know.” He leaned in and made a face as he inhaled her scent that told her he wasn’t a fan of whatever he smelled. “It’s musky, like cologne almost. Where were you?”

“Jeeze, don’t act so repelled.” She grabbed a handful of her shirt and brought it to her face. She took a deep breath through her nose. “I don’t smell anything. And what do you mean where was I? I was home.”

He sniffed her neck. “It’s not your clothing. It’s your skin. Did you get different soap?”

“No, same old stuff I always use.” She sniffed her arm and rolled her eyes. “You’re imagining things. I smell like I always do. Maybe it’s something in the bar.”

He leaned in to kiss her. “You’re probably…” Pausing halfway in, Kyle held his breath then retracted the motion. A small grunt rumbled in his throat as he inched back. He looked like he couldn’t stomach the way she smelled.

Aggravated, she sniffed herself again. “What? I showered less than an hour ago. My hair’s still wet. I don’t smell anything. Maybe you’re getting a cold or something.” Moving to the kitchen she found Karen, Jimbo’s sister. “Kar, do I stink?”

The round, older woman turned and frowned. “What?”

“Kyle says I stink.”

“I did not say you stink. I said you smell different.”

“Smell me,” Annalise insisted, stepping closer to Karen.

Karen sniffed. “You smell like you always do. Like honeysuckle.”

Turning back to Kyle she said, “Told you. God, way to give me a complex.”

Karen laughed as she turned back to the grill, and Annalise walked past her ignorant boyfriend, grumbling about boys with no manners as she went about readying the tables for the lunch crowd that would start coming in. However, by five o’clock Annalise was wondering if she did stink. Her tips sure did. Every time she took a customer’s order they seemed to take a whiff of her then retreat as far away from her as their seat would allow. Even Bruce, who was usually her flirtiest customer, seemed to have a difficult time keeping up a conversation with her and maintaining a straight face.