Hunger Aroused (13 page)

“I guess that wouldn't be very good while we're being held captive in some ancient vamp's house, huh?”

“No, it wouldn't.”

“That's all you had to say,” she said, settling against him again. “I guess I still have a lot to learn. I'm not trying to be annoying—I just want to understand.”

Wound tight by the circumstances, she had no intention of actually going to sleep. Lying next to Corin brought such a sense of comfort and protection, however, she could at least relax. Her muscles ached from being on edge during the car ride. Now, she wanted to think.

“Jasmine…”

“Hmm?”

He exhaled. “That wasn't all of it.”

She waited for him to say more, but a month of Sundays could have passed while she did. Although a clock didn't adorn the wall, it wasn't difficult to imagine incessant ticking reminding her of the seconds of silence. “Yes?”

“You're right. Someone should be teaching you…the pair…it's…you've heard of mating?”

“Mating.”

“A mutual exchange of blood results in a sort of…”

“Bond,” she supplied.

“Yes, bond. It would connect us.”

“Connect us.”

He scrubbed the heel of his palm over his face. “Stop doing that. This is hard enough to explain as it is.”

“So what you're telling me is that you don't want to be connected to me?” Her eyes narrowed.

Corin went still. “That's not…don't turn this into something it's not.”

She sat up again, this time scooting away in her haste to face him head on. “
I'm
not the one doing anything here, Corin. I've turned over my life to you. My job? Gone. My home? Gone. My life? Gone.”

“I've not taken any of those things from you.”

“With the exception of maybe my house, do you think I can have any of those things back? Can you make it go back to the way it was before?” For heaven's sake, he still planned on killing her, or had the last she'd heard.

It was irrational that she grew so angry at his reluctance to bond, mate, pair,
whatever
with her, but she'd just thought they were growing together. Some of his stony façade disappeared with every passing hour, and she'd assumed it was because amorous feelings replaced them. As many times as they'd had sex…

Never mind. Stupid her. What was the old saying? Women used sex to get love, and men used love to get sex? Yeah. That sounded about right.

“You've become my world, Corin,” she said so quietly the words disappeared behind a gust of breeze that lifted the sheer curtains at the windows before they settled into place again.

If he replied, some sort of apology or any reassurance of his growing feelings, what he said was too soft for her to hear, as well.

His knees protested when he shifted, the cold stone floor grinding into his bones. Titus swallowed hard, refusing to make a sound of protest or discomfort. Semen ran down the backs of his thighs, his ass still stinging from the violation that ended only a few minutes ago. He ignored the trickles of the viscous fluid, using the tangy leather bit in his mouth as a place to focus his anger and his fatigue.

“It doesn't have to be like this, Titus.” His owner, his dominus, swirled a goblet of wine before taking a sip from it. The obscene way he stretched, legs spread, flaccid and soiled cock dangling between them, spoke well of his comfort. “I need you to yield to me of your own will. Do this, and you'll command my men.”

Titus's teeth ached, his stomach rumbling its simultaneous protest, as well. He hungered, and after that awful day when he'd almost ripped out a servant's throat in his haste to feed, he knew well why. Mouth dry, he swallowed around the bit again, not acknowledging the promise he'd heard for a year now.

Cartius Primus pointed to one of the servants. “Why do you prefer a life of scraps and leftovers? Come to me, Titus. Feed from me. I can smell your hunger from here.”

The few pulls of blood he stole from willing servants weren't enough to sustain him. He wasn't stupid or naïve. Sooner or later he'd take one of their lives accidentally when the bloodlust overruled his control. Even now, above the stench of sex, he scented the blood rushing through Cartius's veins. An internal tremor overtook him from the thought of claiming some of it for his own.

Cartius gestured at Corin's face. “Remove it.”

Titus took his time, waiting for a few seconds before lifting his hands to the ties holding the bit in place. Metal chains clanged together as he worked. Once freed, he spat the leather onto the floor, stifling the urge to maneuver his jaw that had been locked in place for the past hour.

Lust blossomed in Cartius's eyes. He rose to his feet, setting the goblet on a nearby table before walking to where Titus remained kneeling. “You are a beautiful man, Titus Corinius. A year away from the arena has not diminished you in any way.”

“Thank you, Dominus,” he replied. He might as well have been swallowing glass.

“Is it really so bad, this life?” Cartius circled around him, trailing a hand over his skin. It was so reminiscent of the day they'd met, Titus almost retched. He pushed down rising bile, turning his gaze away from the other man's nudity.

In truth, when not forced into the man's bed, this new life wasn't so bad. But on those nights, the nights when he wore a bit and endured the punishing thrusts, he would have slit his own throat if given the chance. “I would have died a gladiator, Dominus.”

“That is not my will. My will is for you to lead my men.”

“Yes, Dominus.” What more could he say? He'd grown tired of fighting, only to be tied down like an animal as his master rutted above him. Still, he could no more help the urge to defend himself than he could his heart's urge to beat. The bit saved Cartius from times when madness overtook Titus. The new strength he barely recognized, and hadn't yet become accustomed to, gave him the ability to shred bed linens with hardly any effort—something which occurred quite frequently. It was either destroy the linen by anchoring his fingers within them, or wrap his hands around Cartius's throat. Manacles secured around his wrists couldn't stop him completely, not with his new vampire's strength, but they would slow him down long enough for someone to come to Cartius's aid.

“It's time you become permanently tethered to me, Titus. It's time for you to feed.”

Titus's chest heaved, his throat tightening. He tried to breathe and found he couldn't. He still hadn't grown used to the fact he didn't need to, but in times like this, when the air refused to fill his lungs, it only served to fuel rising panic. “Yes, Dominus,” he croaked.

“Look at me.”

He raised his gaze from the floor, quickly bypassing the length of Cartius's leg and torso. Titus looked into his master's face, seeing some of the patience there. Cartius captured Titus's face between his hands, bent then brushed his lips across his servant's. “When I take you, it isn't because I have no other choice. It's your lesson. Do you understand?”

It was the assertion of his will over Titus. An acknowledgement of who ruled over whom. “Yes, Dominus.”

“Feed from me now, and remember every time my cock has been inside you. Know what it is to serve me.” Among gladiators, something similar occurred, but spilled blood was their way. The pain and shame of rape, and of losing in battle, were the same though. “Once you do this, our lives will be forever linked. Despite what you might think about it now, it
is
an honor.”

His breath still would not come. Darkness threatened the periphery of his vision, but then slowly died. He waited for the dominus to lower his wrist. Cartius shuffled closer, however, his groin inches from Titus's face. Shocked, and sure he didn't understand, Titus stiffened. “Dominus?”

“Nothing so callous as my wrist, gladiator. Use the artery there.”

His stomach rolled again, the scent of excrement and sex and blood twisting in his nose until he couldn't tell if he was disgusted or, gods help him, aroused.

Cartius moved closer until the hair of his thigh caressed Titus's face. “Have care, Titus. Time to feed.”

***

His lengthening teeth shocked him into awakening. The pulse of hunger that rippled through them was painful, a reminder that he indeed went too long without feeding himself.

Jasmine.

Corin turned his head to find her outstretched beside him on the bed. She no longer cuddled against him as when they'd first climbed into bed. Instead, her arms were wrapped around her stomach, her legs pulled tight against her body until she'd tucked herself into a ball. The scent of cinnamon was waning, but with a deep inhalation he found the traces still lingering in her system.

What had he done when he'd let her feed from him?

She couldn't become paired to him. She had no concept of what that meant. To this day, he felt his tie to Cartius Primus. When—
if
—she made it out of transition, time would stretch on immeasurable. If he paired with her while she was so young, too inexperienced to make a rational decision, he limited her choices for the future with someone else.

If he paired with her now, he knew he'd never let her go. And never was a long, long time.

He stretched out on his back, arms at his sides, fists balled around the bed covers. Deep inhalations and purposeful exhalations forced breath in and out of his nostrils. He willed down the gnawing in his belly and the tremors in his bones. After a few more hours, he would feed. He'd leave her alone just for a few minutes during that time and then give his body what it needed. Until then, he'd control the appetite. It would not control him.

Approaching footsteps outside the door made him sit up. One hand resting on the blade they'd chosen not to take from him, Corin nudged Jasmine. “Wake up,” he said quietly. “Someone's coming.”

She sat up immediately. “I'm not sleeping.”

He glanced at her face and almost forgot about their precarious situation. Her nose and cheeks were flushed with the healthy signs of someone who'd been crying. Adding to his confusion, around her eyes was pink and puffy. A knot twisted deep in his belly. “Have you been crying? What's wro—”

The door opened before he finished. A different man stood courteously at the threshold, his hand resting on the doorknob. “Mr. Vartan has arrived. If you would please follow me.”

Corin considered making him wait. What the fuck would have made her this upset? This was a woman who stood toe-to-toe against him, who'd run from him with the tenacity of a track star and who'd coupled with him with the force of a hurricane. “Jasmine?”

She scooted off the bed without slowing.

“Jas?”

Still ignoring him, she picked up the scraps of jeans he now regretted slicing open and slipped them on. A streak of white-hot lightning went through him when he noticed the man at the door watching her. Corin vaulted off the bed, placing himself between Jasmine and the door.

When she strode past him without sparing a glance, he knew he was up shit's creek. Whatever he'd done had seriously pissed her off.

They walked in silence down the passageway through which they'd come, turning to head down a different wing. As tastefully decorated as the rest of the house, he tuned out their surroundings and focused on listening for sounds of their captors. Seven men escorted them into the house, but he had no clue how many had stayed or how many others arrived. This person walking with them now testified that Sijourn's staff fluctuated in numbers.

He would have liked more time to confront Jas and to fully assess their surroundings, but the man sitting at a wood corporate desk commanded his attention.

The man sported shoulder-length blond hair and piercing blue eyes. His face was narrow and angular. High cheekbones were probably the envy of models everywhere, while a slash of pink above his chin posed as lips that gave him a hard look. He was wholly unremarkable, and on any other day Corin might have passed him by without a second glance. An enviable visage for such a person of affluence and power.

“Good afternoon,” he said, rising to his feet. “I am Sijourn Vartan. Thank you for coming. Please, have a seat.”

Had to admire a guy who made it sound like their kidnapping was their idea. Jas sat in one of the leather antique chairs, while Corin remained standing.

“You must be Jasmine George,” he said, smiling, then cast a look at Corin. “And the executioner, Corinius Gerulaitis. Can I offer you a beverage, or a snack, perhaps? I'm not sure how long you've been here, but surely by now you could use some refreshments.”

“Mr.—” Corin started.

He waved a hand. “Sijourn, please.”

“Sijourn, then. I recognize you are a busy man, so if you don't object, let's dispense with the pleasantries and discuss why we're here,” Corin said with as much respect in his tone as he could muster. It wasn't much. He didn't give a fuck how civilized the man looked—their presence here was nothing short of barbaric.

Sijourn's face hardened, murder spelled in his eyes. As quickly as it rose, it disappeared. He stared at Corin until the executioner, at last, sat down. “I understand, Jasmine, that the circumstances that bring you into our lifestyle have been unusual.”

Eyes locked with his, Corin answered for Jasmine. “And what would you know of it?”

Sijourn leaned toward Corin. “I know of an executioner wanted by the Council for failing to complete a kill order. I know of a woman, still in heat by the scent of her, who is the object of that kill order. I know of no authorization for a newly created vampire in this portion of the state…I know of many things.”

“I'd have to disagree. Otherwise you wouldn't have brought her here. If the Council's after me, they're surely after her as well.”

“She might be the hope for a new breed of vamp—”

“She,”
Jasmine announced, “isn't amused by this conversation. Hello? I'm right here.”

Corin's heart kicked against his ribs like it was trying to get out.
A new breed of vampire.
Is that what Sijourn really thought?

Hell. Earlier he'd been leaning toward thinking the same thing. When she'd countered with a logical explanation for the introduction of vampire blood into hers, he'd dismissed the idea. Yet, they'd not determined the cause of her heart stopping during that critical time.

Could it really be? Could Jasmine be a new breed?

He reached for Jasmine's hand, linking it in his, because whatever differences they were going through now he needed her with him. They could not appear divided in front of Sijourn. “If Jasmine is as you say, what does that mean to you? Why bring us here?”

“You, I did not expect. Frankly, at any time you're ready, feel free to excuse yourself.”

The antique chair toppled to the ground after Corin jumped to his feet. He didn't stop the low growl that rumbled from his throat. “Not a chance.”

Sijourn looked from Corin to Jasmine, taking in the sight of her hand as she reached up to rub his thigh. The calming gesture soothed his rising ire. Her sweet cinnamon scent drifted around him, and even in this maddening situation, arousal stirred within. Seconds later Corin spotted the almost imperceptible flare of Sijourn's nostrils, dread filling him at the sight. Without a doubt, the older vampire detected the subtle perfume of her heat, perhaps her arousal, as well.

“No,” Sijourn said with a smirk, “this I did not expect, at all.” He stood, making his way around the desk and to the fallen chair. He set it upright and gestured to Corin again. “Please. I didn't mean to upset you. I wasn't fully aware of the circumstances. Please, have a seat and accept my sincerest apologies.”

This is what bothered him about the man. The subservient manner and willingness to please. No way in hell did a man live as long as Sijourn had by behaving with such obsequiousness. Something sinister lurked beneath his mannerisms but Corin couldn't put his finger on what yet.

What he did know was that every minute they spent trying to tease out his motivations was another minute he wasn't working on a solution on how to keep the Council away from Jasmine. For every idea that crossed his mind, he found no less than five reasons why it wouldn't work.

“So, I still don't understand why we're here, Sijourn,” Jasmine said.