Reborn Vampire Romance: Blood Courtesans (14 page)

Supporting my back with his hands he half stood and laid me on the pine coffee table, clearing the surface with a swipe of his hand.  Magazines and the whiskey glass fell to the floor. He unbuttoned my jeans and inched them off my hips, hands grazing my skin and raising goose bumps. I thrust my pelvis up at him, a silent request to go faster, which he did. With one quick pull, my pants were off and tossed onto the couch. My panties he just ripped, the sheer lace giving way like tissue paper.

He pushed one, then two insistent fingers inside me as his thumb found the sensitive nub between my nether lips. I threw my head back and sighed.

“You like that, love?”

“Very much,” I breathed.

And then he crooked his fingers within me, pushing into overly sensitive flesh. I gasped as a small burst of fireworks went off in my core. The pressure of a larger explosion began to build and I gripped the edge of the table.

“Kristos,” I keened.

“Yes, love I’m here.” His hand went faster, harder. My hips bounced, racing toward the cliff. I sailed right off into weightless pleasure. I couldn’t breathe or think. My eyes closed putting me in a dark place where trembling sensation was all that mattered.

Still lost in the orgasm, I felt the faint pin-pricks of fangs on my inner thigh. That sent another tremor through me as my body responded with heightened pleasure. Kristos’ lips sealed over the hyper-sensitive skin of my leg and milked me with measured contractions of his mouth. I couldn’t stay still. It tickled and I writhed and wriggled until he had to hold me down.

The orgasm continued to shiver through me, pulsing in time with Kristos' mouth on my thigh. I wondered if it was some kind of vampire pheromone thing that caused him to have such an effect on me. Or maybe it was the blood bond. I would have to ask him sometime.

Having had his fill of me, he impaled me on his shaft. Scooting his hands under my shoulder blades, he lifted me into a sitting position and transferred us both to the couch.

“Oh,” I breathed at the change in sensation. He went so much deeper in me now and his pelvis split my nether lips wide to rub against my delicate center. It was very satisfying.

Kristos reached around to squeeze my rear and when I slid down his length, he gave me an extra push, ensuring I took all of him in and then some. He captured a nipple in his mouth and sucked it in long pulls. His tongue flickered over the tip until the fluttering sensation spread all through my body. After a moment, he switched breasts and gave the other the same treatment.

All I could do was pump along his shaft and pant as desire consumed me.

When I came again, he pulled me in close. My pebbled breasts hit his chest as he thrust his tongue into my mouth. I tasted blood again and recoiled in surprise, but he wove his fingers into my hair and forced me to maintain the kiss. The last time he’d kissed me like this, I’d almost thrown up. The sour iron of blood had been unpleasant, but necessary. Now, the flavor was like a full bodied wine, the tang almost fruity as opposed to metallic. I found myself enjoying his blood, even relishing it as it slipped down my throat. I began to see the connection with alcohol that had so puzzled me when I first met Madame Rouge.

My eyes opened and sought his, which were their usual crystalline blue with the force of a tsunami behind them. He drank me in and my mind rolled over under the force of his eyes. He didn’t speak, but it seemed I could hear him in my head anyway.

Suck, love.

Take as much of me as you can
.

I obeyed, earnestly working his tongue. Inside me his cock pulsed and danced. He came a moment later and broke our kiss to sink his fangs into my neck. Once again a little spasm of pleasure shook me as he fed. I continued to pump his shaft, lost in a blissful stupor.

Afterward we retired to the bedroom. Here the shabby chic decor had morphed into country farmhouse with an old-fashioned four post bed and a pair of vintage oak dressers. The patchwork quilt lent the room color and there were touches of lace on the night tables and in the large doilies on top of the dressers. The look was discordant given the apartment’s location in one of the largest metropolis’ in the world, however, I found it comforting. I’d grown up in rooms furnished like this. It was like being home again.

I sank into the bed, snuggling under the covers, sated both in body and mind. Kristos had drained me of blood and energy. A lethargy of deep satisfaction made me limp and ready to sleep.

Kristos spooned me, his unyielding strength at my back reassuring. With one hand he spun little circles on my shoulder. I wiggled my bottom against him and sighed.  Just then all my troubles seemed far, far away. All that mattered was the here and now.

“How did you become a vampire?” I wanted to hear his voice as I drifted off.

His fingers on my shoulder stilled. “It’s a long story. An unpleasant history.”

“Worse than ripping off Arlo’s head?” I asked, my question pointed.

That gave him pause. “Perhaps not.” He was silent for a moment, fingers idling on my skin. “I lived in Rome during the time of Cleopatra and Julius Caesar.”

That sparked my interest. “Did you know them?”

“Only when they passed through the main streets on their way to the palace. I did not run in their circles.”

“So you weren’t a Senator in ancient Rome.” I managed not to sound too disappointed. The idea of being with a guy who’d met Cleopatra held a certain allure.

“No. My family ran a bakery.”

I frowned. A bakery seemed so mundane. “How did you go from bread to blood?”

“I met a man in the baths. In those days men often had boy lovers. A powerful vampire chose me to be his. He was compelling and strangely beautiful in a time when many men of power were disfigured somehow, either from disease or war. He seduced me and then years later turned me to keep me as his pet.”

“How did you feel about that?” I half-turned to look at him, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was gazing into the distance, lost in another time, another place.

“At first I was angry. I missed my family and felt like my future had been stolen from me. I would spare you this bitterness if I could.” He gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Still, I am not so unhappy now. I have seen such miracles, lived to see one era fade into the next and now technology will bring us to the heights of gods. Drinking blood seems a small price to pay.”

“Drinking blood is not the only cost, is it?” I asked thinking of the non-stop violence that had ensued since we’d met. “Do vampires always go around playing shoot ‘em up and ripping off heads?”

Kristos went still again. “We have our moments, yes. Mostly we coexist peacefully, especially in the modern era, but you will bring out the worst in us, Myra.”

“There’s one thing I don’t get.” I rolled over to face him. “How did they know about me? I think I understand why vampires want me, but how did they find me?” I’d gone twenty-five years without a peep and then all hell had broken loose.

Kristos didn’t meet my eyes for once. “In one word, it’s genetics. Vampires want to make better vampires. You do that by finding and turning descendants of powerful vampires. Cousins or surviving children’s children are believed to have the potential to be stronger than others of our kind. Someone must have seen Devon’s name on the birth certificate.”

“That simple?”

He nodded. “That simple. Some vampires want to bring over their families for sentimental reasons. Others are more mercenary about building a power base. Someone found out about you.”

“Do you think it’s because I became a blood courtesan? Madame Rouge had enough information to do a background check.”

He shrugged. “That’s possible. Or maybe you just came up on a search. I’ve known vampires who actively collected humans that had the same DNA as a powerful vampire.”

I made a face at the idea of being stalked for my genetic material. “Could it be my dad looking for me?” Was he still out there somewhere? Would I ever meet him?

“I suppose, but Devon’s been gone for so long you should prepare yourself for the idea that he’s met his final death.” He wrapped his arms around me again and pulled me close. “Now rest, love. Tomorrow night will be busy and we don’t want to be fatigued.”

“Kristos?”

“Rest, Myra,” he chided.

“Just one more question.” I twisted around to look at him. “Where is your maker now?”

A shadow crossed his face. “He died the final death.”

I cupped his cheek in my hand. “I’m sorry.”

He gave a little shrug and despite the shadow that crossed his face, he said, “It was a long time ago.”

We shared a companionable silence after that. Kristos pulled me tight against him and buried his face in the nape of my neck as if seeking comfort. I leaned into him wanting to give him what solace I could, and before I knew it, I was asleep.

I
slept until early afternoon the next day. My stomach woke me, growling and wanting to be fed. Grumbling about my incessant need to eat, I used the bathroom and then poked around in the meager kitchen. Locating some bread, butter and jam I made toast.

As I ate, I went through the owner’s mail, which was piled on the kitchen counter. Her name was Charlene Townsend and she got a lot of catalogs. I set those aside to look at later and flipped through her bills out of idle curiosity about the woman who had slept with Kristos before me. A large manila envelope rested at the bottom of the pile and when I found it already open, I pulled out the contents which turned out to be several news clippings.

I scanned them recognizing the name Townsend. The clippings were old, dating back to the nineteen fifties, and checking the envelope again, I found copies of news stories from the eighteen hundreds.

None of the stories were all that interesting. One from 1880 talked about someone named Charles Townsend who’d bought some land and built a school house for a small town in rural Georgia. They were so grateful the newspaper did a full write up, droning on and on and on about the man like he was some saint. They covered his parents, where they grew up, where he grew up, his schooling and his marital status. There was also a picture of him standing in front of what looked to be a one room schoolhouse constructed of clapboard, He was a weird looking guy with a lean, tall face and one of those old-timey square beards.

I set everything down for a second to put more bread in the toaster. While it toasted, I gathered up all the clippings intent on putting them back in the envelope, but one of the articles caught my eye. This one was an actual newspaper clipping from 1959. The picture it contained stopped me short. It was of a man who looked a lot like the Charles Townsend of 1880. The beard had disappeared, but he hadn’t aged one bit.

Curious, I pulled out the 1880 piece again and compared the two pictures as a shiver went up my spine. My conversation with Kristos came back to me. If this Charles Townsend was a vampire back then, he was probably related to Charlene. Was she on some kind of DNA hit list too?  Was she on the run just like me?

I put the clippings back in the envelope and tried to arrange the mail to look natural, like no one had been combing through it. A red folder then caught my attention. It hadn’t been in the mail pile but off to the side. I flipped it open and my jaw dropped as I read the letter on top.

Mr. Townsend:

My name is Charlene and we’re distant cousins, related on your mother’s side. I would like to meet with you to discuss our family.

Something you may not know is we have a gene that makes us prone to cancer. It killed my mother, her mother, and both my sisters. It stretches generations back in our family tree. As far as I can tell, cancer killed your own mother. Myself, I already have some early cell changes that indicate the beginning stages of cancer.

I don’t want to die like the other women in my family and you are my only option. I want to live and I’ll do anything I have to in order to do so.

I stopped reading at that point as the letter went on to give contact information that didn’t interest me. Returning the letter to its folder, I riffled through the other papers inside, which consisted of dull genealogy research. Charlene had done her homework. Nothing interesting came to light, so I set the folder back on the counter.

My mind whirled. I didn’t blame Charlene at all for taking such a drastic step. Maybe it was something I should consider for myself. Up until then I’d thought the whole ‘to be or not to be a bloodsucker’ debate was about keeping me safe from my attackers, but what if I had the same genes Charlene did?

I blinked and the image of my emaciated grandmother lying in a hospital bed came to mind. She’d lasted a month after her diagnosis. Cancer was hell on earth. Even the kind they could cure was no picnic. Shoot, if I’d known about my father before, I might’ve approached him on my mother’s behalf. Becoming a vampire couldn’t be worse than failed chemo, right?

Disconcerted by Charlene and the questions her situation raised for me, I busied myself with making even more toast—hey, I was hungry. Wanting to distract myself, I took the catalogs to the couch and indulged in some fantasy retail while munching on the toast. Charlene got some nice catalogs; she was clearly in a much higher income bracket than me.

An hour later found me restlessly roaming the apartment. It was hours until dark. The catalogs hadn’t lasted for long and there was nothing on TV but sappy soap operas, PBS kid shows and Judge Judy. Charlene didn’t have extended cable. I wanted to call my mom, but Kristos had confiscated my cell phone saying something about vampires monitoring and tracing calls. For ancient myths, they were pretty up with the times.

When I spotted an old-school button phone by the front door, I couldn’t resist the temptation. Surely they wouldn’t be tracking such old technology? My mom was under an assumed name anyway. There was nothing linking us and I needed to hear her voice.

I lifted the receiver and smiled when I heard a dial tone. After a good fifteen minutes of calling information and making my way through department after department, I finally reached my mom.