Vampire Enslavement (Lords of Bondage) (30 page)

“Some have asked to take her as a mistress. I declined, of course.”

“I take it Seamus is one of them.”

“He did express an interest in Kiera, but he cannot have her.” He picked another head from a desk drawer and began to juggle them in the air. “She is not going to set up house with some lord. I’ll not allow that girl to leave my protection. I control Kiera and that includes who she fucks.”

Modez was in control of that, not Diermont. “Of course.” Kiera wasn’t safe in Diermont’s protection, but Modez was glad she wasn’t free to take a lover and move elsewhere.

“And has Kiera improved in her behavior toward you? Is she giving the proper amount of respect?”

“She claims she will obey me.” Her words lacked sincerity. He hadn’t missed the pleasure in her eyes when she had seen that he still wore the slave collar.

“She will serve you with humility. I elevated that girl from the fields and this is how she repays me.” Diermont’s eyes glowed red with emotion. “I will put her in her place.”

“Yes, Your Royal Highness.”

“I have a surprise for you.” He set both severed heads on the desk and cursed when one continued to roll, falling on the Irelandian wool rug. “Sadly, the dronusflies prevent us from retrieving Elsa from the palace, but I’ve found a solution to the lack of bed servants and courtesans.”

“What would that be?” Human pleasure slaves, perhaps?

“A long awaited reconciliation. We have a most esteemed visitor.”

A deep sense of foreboding gnawed at his innards and made him dread learning what was to come. But Modez couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Who is it?”

Before Diermont could answer, a female appeared in the room and bowed before the prince. Modez’s stomach dropped. The very last person he wished to encounter was his former mate, and now the woman had come to New Babylon. He blinked, hoping he was still hallucinating from lack of blood. But the woman remained. Gwyneth McRae, the rustic woman he had once rescued from obscurity gave him a look full of affection. But he knew it was false.

Gwyneth smiled and her eyes lit with pleasure. “Modez, my love. You look handsome as always.”

“What are you doing here?” He hadn’t seen her since she had introduced her infant son to the court. That had been over ten years ago.

Gwyneth placed a hand on his arm. “I had to see you, Modez. My mate.”

“You are not my mate.” She had left him for another hybrid, one who held a kingship in the North. She had allowed the other male to make a mating bond with her, which broke the one they had shared. Then she had born the other man a child. “You took another mate.”

“Yes, but King Adevax died last year. One of his brothers murdered him and tried to kill my son as well. I fled with my young prince to Turloch. I sent word to you of my return, but you never came to see me.”

He had tossed her missives in the fire. “I had no reason to see you. We are over.”

“But now that I am free, I wish to return to you. Be your mate again. I will bear young for you.” Gwyneth tried to massage his shoulders, but he pushed her hands away from him. “We already know we are compatible physically,” she said as she made another attempt to cling to him like an invasive vine. “I am your true mate.”

“You left me to bond with another male. He was your mate and now he is dead. I don’t want you back.”

“But I know you have no mate.” Gwyneth sat on the desk, right beside one of the severed heads. She didn’t spare it a glance as she turned cow eyes to Modez. “You never found another because I am your true mate. You cannot turn me away, Modez.” Gwyneth’s eyes implored him to forgive her and her hand gripped him so hard that he felt his bones were in danger of snapping. “I am your only hope for an heir.”

“I’d rather my line die out than mix my blood with yours.” Modez knew he could never forgive Gwyneth. She had claimed to love him just days before she had left him for another man. “I will never take you back, so you can return to Turloch. Leave me in peace.”

“No, I will not give up on us.” She leapt from the desk and would have leapt straight into his arms if he had let her. “I still love you, Modez. I never stopped. I didn’t choose the king. He forced that mating bond on me.”

Modez knew she was lying. Gwyneth had seduced the king when he had visited the palace. She had not been content to be Lady Halloran when she could be a queen. She only wanted him back now because she was without a home. “Go back to Asstrumnia, Gwyneth. I don’t love you any longer and I will not take you back.”

Gwyneth pouted her cupid’s bow lips and turned to face the prince. “He so cruelly rejects me. I would do anything to erase the mistakes of my past.”

Diermont took her hands in his and kissed each palm. “He will forgive you in time, my lady. Do stay. Snotti misses you, for you were her dearest friend.”

Modez scowled at Diermont. “Do not encourage the lady’s interest in me. I will not forgive or forget what she has done.”

“Gwyneth is your mate,” Diermont said to Modez. “She should not have forsaken you for another, but the Northerner is dead and she has returned to you. Do not reject the woman. She can give you a litter. She is a proven breeder and the two of you share compatibility. That is rare.”

He was bitter and the need to hurt Gwyneth with cruel words hadn’t dissipated. “She’s a poor breeder if she has only one son.”

Gwyneth’s eyes misted with tears. “Modez was the only one of my litter to survive. His brothers didn’t make it past their first year.”

“You named the little boy after me?” Modez was shocked and repulsed by this information. “I wasn’t the father.”

“His birthname was Arkrus, but I had his name changed to Modez when I left the North. I couldn’t leave him with a Northerner name, not when those horrible mountain dwellers tried to kill us.”

His former mate had a special talent for making him angry. They had been toxic together. “You cannot do that, Gwyneth. You cannot rename your son and pretend we’re a happy family. I’m not that little boy’s father.”

“You can be his father. He needs one now that the king is dead.” She wrung her hands. “You will love little Modez. He is just as you were at that age. And I will give you more children. I’ll birth you a litter. I’m sure more of the little tykes will survive now that we are in a more inviting climate.” She pointed her finger in the air and wagged it with passionate anger. “It was the cold of the North that killed my litter. They froze to death in their crib.”

“I am truly sorry.” He felt guilty for the pain she had endured, but he was not going to accept her back in his life. “You may have another litter one day, but not by me. I wish you the best, but I don’t want you as my mate.”

“You cannot turn your mate away.” Diermont patted Gwyneth on her shoulder. “It could be thirty years before you find another compatible match. The Halloran line has not birthed a litter in the past few decades. It is time you perform your duty to your line.”

“My duty, as you call it, can be performed with another female. There are plenty willing to mate with me.”

“Gwyneth isn’t just any female. The McRae’s are descended from kings. Your lady has lain with kings and given birth to princes. She will give you sons.”

“She is guilty of infidelity. I cannot forgive her for that.”

“At least the invading cock was one of royalty.”

It didn’t excuse her, not in his eyes. When he had mated with Gwyneth, he had thought it was for life. The sweet-faced, innocent female had sworn her loyalty to him and had given her body. Her bloodlines had been excellent, but her shyness had made her a poor catch. The wallflower hadn’t blossomed until he had asked her to dance at one of the society balls. Her popularity had soared when they had become a couple and somewhere along the way she had lost her shyness. The ambitious female had set her sights on a loftier prize. A king.

“I miss you terribly, Modez,” Gwyneth said. “I braved a dronusfly swarm in order to get to you. I easily could have died.” Gwyneth pointed to a reddened patch of skin on her arm. “One of the dronusflies bit me here.”

“I haven’t missed you at all.” That part wasn’t a lie. After the pain of betrayal had faded, Modez hadn’t wasted his thoughts on her. He hadn’t missed bed sport with her, either. That blonde pleasure slave had given him a much more satisfying fuck than his mate had ever given him. The invisible woman had potential as well, although she had been more concerned with her own pleasure than his. Then there was Kiera, who promised to be a most pleasant diversion. That mongrel serf was his for the taking.

“You wound me,” Gwyneth said with tears in her eyes.

“You should treat your mate with kindness,” Diermont said to Modez. “She is the mother of your future litter.”

“I would rather mate with a mongrel.” For some reason, an image of Kiera appeared in his mind and wouldn’t leave it.

“A Halloran would never lower himself to one of such inferior bloodlines. A Halloran only has the best. The best mate, the best mistresses and courtesans, and the best slaves.”

“I know I hurt you when I took another to my bed.” Gwyneth wiped a tear from her eye. “I will allow you full use of the palace concubines and harlots. You may even keep your mistress. I know you have one named Elsa.”

Elsa was a sweet, pretty, biddable female who never caused drama. She eased him on occasion, but he wasn’t filled with desire for her. Thoughts of her, looking at her, conversing with her—none of that made his cock hard.

“You may use other females with my blessing, my love. I only want your cock during the next Mating Period. I know you have needs that require frequent tending.”

Gwyneth’s offer sickened him. He planned to remain faithful to his mate, should he ever take another one. He knew the female couldn’t love him if she didn’t mind his use of whores. He also knew that he would not find another mate with her exalted pedigree, but bloodlines weren’t all there was to consider when picking someone to share his life. He had learned that the hard way. “Please return to Asstrumnia. I do not want you in my life.”

Chapter 19

“I brought you a gift.” The male called Peter kneeled before the Roman woman seated on a divan and handed her a vial of white liquid. “This is a sample of blood hybrid seed. It is the type you seek for the production of Hydra.”

The woman accepted his gift with a dismissive nod before handing it to a servant. “This is good but I need more. Much more.”

“I can get you more.”

The lady nodded. “How is my dear sister faring?”

“She is alive.” He had rescued Lucine Maximus, the woman Diermont hunted, against his better judgment. The Agrippa bitch would have severed their connection if he hadn’t intervened and saved her sister.

“Did you deliver her to the place we discussed?”

“Yes. She arrived in one piece.” For some reason, the mistress thought her sister would be safe with the Countess of Avenal in Flourda since she was sympathetic to Romans. There was also some kind of family connection there, although he hadn’t cared to learn the particulars. “I assume you’re expanding your operation into Flourda.”

“Expansion is good, certainly. We will all benefit from it.” She gave him an expectant look. “Enough about business. I have other needs that are pressing.”

The woman was robed in purple silk, like a princess, and her dress was hiked up to her knees. When she spread her thighs, Peter saw the golden thatch of fur that covered her sex. He stared at it while trying to figure out how he actually felt about it. The human female’s form both fascinated and repulsed him. “What exactly do you want, Mistress?”

The woman widened her thighs another two inches. “I want to know the feel of a man. It has been so long.”

“I am not precisely a man.”

“You have what I need. Not what I want, mind you, but what I need. I have the blue rot, you see.”

That surprised him. She had tangled with blood hybrids before and lived. Prospered, even. “I don’t desire human sex.”

The woman frowned. “A pity. I hoped you would be my partner in more ways than one.” She snapped her fingers and one of her servants scurried to her side. “Send in one of the male slaves to attend me.”

The servants brought in a collared male slave. His muscular build indicated he wasn’t a house slave. He was a laborer of some kind. The mistress slid her garment to her waist. She pointed at her exposed cunt and told the man to get on his knees to taste his special dessert. A reward, she told him. Peter watched as the slave ran his tongue all over the woman’s fuzzy piece. He didn’t seem to mind the task.

“As I was saying, Peter, I need more than seed. I need live blood hybrid specimens. I have sent for Wilma and I need your promised delivery before the mage gets here. Assuming she answers my summons, of course.”

The human man was getting excited and Peter could scent the arousal of the woman. He thought what she was doing was depraved, but for some reason, it made his staff harden in his trousers. “Soon. I will make my move and you’ll have what’s promised to you.”

“Very good, Peter.” The woman moaned. She tossed her head back, clenched her fists, and screamed out her pleasure as she convulsed. The male’s tongue continued to lap at her and the woman urged him to continue. Suddenly, the male screamed in pain. His tongue protruded from his mouth, swollen five times its normal size and cutting off the man’s breathing. The stiff tongue was the color of blueberries.

Peter recognized the results of blue rot exposure. He was horrified the woman willingly tortured her slave in this fashion. When he declined her invitation for sex, he hadn’t known she would use a human male in his place. The man’s screams stopped because he was choking. He collapsed on the floor.

The Roman woman snapped her fingers and servants rushed to her side. “I will need a replacement for this one by tomorrow,” she said while pointing to the dying man on the floor. “Have my secretary see to it.” When the servants left the room, she turned to Peter. “Put this man out of his misery. Drink him dry.”

“I prefer females. Males leave a bitter taste in my mouth.” The man’s suffering made him feel sick to his stomach. He wasn’t sure why since the purpose of blue rot was to do this very thing. The human was on the ground and he already looked like a corpse. His swollen tongue was rotting at a rapid pace. Soon it would blacken and break off. The man was blessedly near death and wouldn’t feel the pain from the blue rot much longer. He didn’t want to drink from the human but he took pity on the male. He kneeled at the near-dead man and sank his fangs into his wrist. He avoided the throat because he didn’t like the after taste associated with the blue rot. He drank from the wrist until the man was dead. It didn’t take long. When he was done, he left the corpse on the floor and returned to the mistress. “That was cruel.”