Vampire's Companion (3 page)

Chapter Two

A group of whispering human women out on the town as part of a bachelorette party preceded Terach to the club’s doors. The one leading them was allowed to pass while the others were each asked, “Do you enter Wyldfyres of your own free will?”

Fear laced their scent. Tittered laughter jumped among them along with hushed exclamations of
Oh my god, this seems so freaking real!

One-by-one they ignored survival instinct and answered yes to enter the club. But short of seizing their minds and ordering them away, he couldn’t prevent their playing here, and given that truth, he wished there was a token male in the group, a girlfriend except for gender.

He passed straight through the foyer without lingering, preferring less of an audience when he fed, though to come to Wyldfyres at all signaled a willingness to be part of the entertainment in exchange for being entertained.

Without a companion at his side, he wouldn’t climb the stairs at the end of the wide hallway. The upper parts of the club allowed for greater privacy, but they were roamed by more powerful vampires. Any feeding he might be offered would come with obligation and complication.

What he desired was what the women he’d followed in unwittingly offered. Blood without bond, without any assurances—even pleasure, though that in itself created a small crisis of conscience.

He didn’t want to do anything that might hurt Cia. But under normal circumstances, he’d always returned ecstasy in exchange for blood.

And I will tonight. I must.

His code dictated it, though discomfort clung to him until he reached an open doorway into a dungeon.

The heady scent of sex and the lush, metallic smell of blood assaulted him. His cock throbbed in time to the slap of a paddle wielded by a dark-skinned male vampire and slammed against the tautly muscled buttocks of an equally dark human chained with his legs spread so his testicles were displayed.

They were a compelling pair, as was the raven-haired threesome on the bed. A female lay on her back, fingers tangled in the hair of a companion whose medallion shone with an extravagant ruby, while a slave wearing ruby-studded bands knelt between her splayed thighs, mouth worshiping his mistress.

The sight enthralled Terach, so much so that he stopped fighting the urge to grasp his cock. He stroked it through the material of his jeans as he watched the threesome writhing, the sounds of their pleasure and the scene playing out obliterating everything else.

He climbed with them toward release, faced the choice of turning or remaining in the doorway and coming when they did. A breath from losing control, his fingers became clamping steel.

Pain drove need back a step. Forcing a retreat from ecstasy’s precipice, though his balls ached and his cock screamed in protest.

His fangs slid into full prominence and he couldn’t expend the effort necessary to draw them back.

Enough!
instinct shouted. And he heeded that voice, striding toward the doorway that would take him to the nightclub-like room that was hunting ground for blood donors and sexual partners.

Steps from where a scantily clad human took receipt of surrendered clothing, an exotic blonde with one blue eye and one green intercepted him. She knelt, inviting him with lifted face and wet lips to free his cock and make use of her.

“Thank you, but no. I have another in mind.”

A nameless male he would forget. A human like those who’d entered the club in front of him. Never a slave. Not even here, where some of those wearing bands had happily surrendered their free will to become meal and plaything.

He abhorred the practice. None of those Gian made took or kept them. The same was true of his sire’s sire, Brann, the Council’s Executioner, a being feared by even the most powerful of their kind.

The beautiful blonde was too well trained to push, and Amadeus too exacting a master to risk displeasing. She rose gracefully and moved toward the foyer. Perhaps to check on those in it, or perhaps to wait for a new arrival, in all likelihood hunting for a vampire who might one day elevate her to the status of companion.

Terach entered the main area, lust cooling and pity forming. Rather than dancing, the floor had been turned over so freed slaves might be claimed by new owners without implied debt or the extension of responsibility.

The interested and curious gathered in a wide arc facing the pillar next to the disc jockey’s booth. He took a seat at the bar.

Strip-tease music blasted from speakers. A door set in the column opened and a large-breasted brunette emerged.

Her confidence left her along with each piece of clothing. At the song’s climax she was completely naked in front of them, her pulse beating wildly in her throat, her dancing becoming frantic.

Notes away from silence, a male barely beyond his fledgling years stepped forward to claim her. She left the area marked by a change in floor tile color, going immediately to her knees to service her new master.

Another song played. Another woman emerged from the holding area, this one slight and blonde.

A female of Juric’s line stepped forward immediately, anxious for this particular prize. And by the human’s smile when no one else wanted her, it pleased her too.

The music resumed, a throbbing, more primal beat.

The column door opened.

A man took the floor, his cock hard against his belly, swaying when he moved. Black hair shimmered to mid back, light catching on silver nipple bars.

Terach’s heart lurched. Electricity charged along his nerve endings as though he’d been jabbed by a cattle prod.

No! It can’t be.

But it was.

Israel.

Heat and hunger engulfed him. Need too long suppressed.

He found himself steps away from the bar and heading toward the gathered crowd. He faltered when a female said, “I claim him.”

Desire warred with thoughts of Cia. He’d made his choice years ago when he hadn’t tempted himself to take Israel as a companion by making him a lover.

Few vampires could claim more than one companion. And he was more heterosexual than otherwise, though Israel had stirred his desire in a way few men did.

Terach halted, his chest tight, his breath locked in his throat.

He’d done the honorable thing, or so he’d told himself. He hadn’t allowed lust to overrule conscience. He’d convinced himself that it was the right choice when it appeared Israel would become Estelle’s companion.

He hadn’t known Israel would end up a blood slave. He’d never have wanted that for Israel. But maybe Israel had desired it rather than been forced into it.

Given the way Israel’s hand traveled seductively over his abdomen for the benefit of the female vampire, maybe he knew her. Maybe he wanted to belong to her. Maybe—

Israel glanced up.

Their gazes collided.

Time stopped.

Everything around him disappeared in the desperate throb of lust and longing, in the shiny wash of dark eyes pleading with him, silently begging for rescue.

His entire being responded,
Yes!

A male voice said, “I lay claim to this slave.”

Israel looked away first, freezing like prey at the sight of Diarmid.

Fury snarled through Terach. The crop alongside Diarmid’s thigh was more than a fashion accessory. His preference for pain and terror was well known, as was his view that scars were marks of true artistry.

“I cede him to you,” the female vampire said.

“I claim him,” Terach countered, creating a ripple of excitement among the gathered.

Diarmid turned, green eyes burning with challenge. “I don’t cede him.”

“Then we fight.”

The music ended, sealing challenge and closing it to any other.

Amadeus joined Israel in the cleared space. The black, high-collared cloak he wore flared, dramatizing his sudden appearance.

The room went still and quiet. Eyes of a brown that shaded into gold bored into Terach’s.

“Your sire’s line is well known for their lack of blood slaves,” Amadeus said. “Your claim to this human stands only if you agree to leave Wyldfyres with a slave or a companion. Do you accept this stipulation?”

Bile rose in Terach’s throat. He wasn’t strong enough to claim a second companion, and might never be. He couldn’t counter Amadeus with the pledge to turn Israel, not here in this place, not now with his bond to Cia unsettled.

Terach’s gaze shifted to Israel. He was rigid with anticipated abandonment, his face schooled into an expressionless mask.

“I accept,” Terach said, watching hope and need and fear tumble through Israel’s eyes, ache gripping him at what Israel might have endured.

Amadeus’s hand grasped Israel’s upper arm. “Then we adjourn for the challenge.”

Vampires moved toward a doorway between the bar and disc jockey, their companions with them, the air thickening and darkening and heating with blood lust that would morph into sexual frenzy.

Terach entered the large room with a deep red circle set in the tile. As did Diarmid.

Amadeus followed with Israel, shutting the door and preventing the slaves and unbound humans from witnessing what transpired.

Oversized couches and chairs provided seating for some. Scattered among them was dungeon furniture. Steel loops with restraints tethered to them were set in the floor and adorned the walls.

Amadeus guided Israel into the center of the circle. His jeweled hand dropped away from Israel’s arm. Excitement and anticipation swelled among the gathered, the fever pitch of it breaking when Amadeus pulled a blood-red case from the cloak’s folds.

He opened it to reveal twin daggers, black-handled, sharp-edged on both sides. “The winner must claim his prize before leaving this circle.”

The announcement was met with murmurs of approval, with gasps and cries as lovers were fondled.

Terach stepped closer, his nail beds tingling as though this fight would require wickedly curved talons. “I protest.”

“Noted. The rules remain in effect. Should the prize be inadvertently killed before the contest is concluded, those gathered will determine the challenge winner and what he might claim as reparation.”

Amadeus offered Diarmid the first choice of daggers.

Terach lifted the remaining weapon from its red-velvet resting place.

With a dramatic snap of his wrist, Amadeus closed the case. “To the death. Upon my exit of the circle.”

Diarmid’s smile was a savage slash of white. He moved, circling behind Israel.

Terach’s heart beat in his throat, not fear for himself, but fear for Israel. He spared a glance at the man he’d once thought himself falling in love with. Dark eyes met his, Israel’s desire and hope intensifying the determination to win.

His fingertips burned to rake over taut masculine flesh. His cock throbbed with the need to plunge into Israel’s ass in a primal claiming of what belonged to him. His gums ached in anticipation of fangs buried in Israel’s throat, the rich taste of blood more heady than any other drink.

He angled away from Israel, hoping to distract, to draw Diarmid’s focus, to reduce the risk to Israel. But the instant Amadeus crossed the circle, Diarmid’s arm whipped out, slashing, opening Israel’s skin and filling the air with the scent of blood.

Somewhere behind Terach a companion’s cry matched Israel’s, but where one was pain, the other was ecstasy at being pierced by fangs.

“Down,” he ordered, and Israel obeyed, crouching.

Terach lunged.

Diarmid danced away, laughing. “So there’s history between the two of you. I’ll remember that when he’s mine.”

They circled, Terach keeping himself between Diarmid and Israel.

The crowd grew restless. Frustrated. Their craving for violence escalated.

It was translated by some into the tethering of their companions and the application of bare hands or crops or belts.

Terach attempted to force Diarmid out of the circle to end the fight.

Diarmid lunged.

Terach countered. With the dagger. With a kick aimed at propelling Diarmid backward.

Diarmid slipped past him like an eel, plunged the blade into Israel’s back.

Israel’s scream became a panicked thrashing with the dagger’s withdrawal.

Red filled Terach’s vision. His very being. It washed over him in a furious tide.

Caution disappeared.

Kill.

Kill.

Kill.

He swung.

Lunged.

Swung.

Lunged.

Fast and furious. Uncaring about the hits he took, the deep slashes and dripping blood.

The need to finish this became more desperate with Israel’s escalating struggle to breathe.

Terach took a risk, driving Diarmid toward Israel, anticipating that the other vampire wouldn’t be able to resist delivering additional pain.

An eye-blink distraction.

Terach saw it.

Used it.

Leapt and thrust in a clean strike to the heart, delivering instantaneous death.

He rode Diarmid to the floor.

Released the dagger still embedded in the other vampire and rushed to kneel next to Israel.

He forced Israel onto his stomach to get at the place where Diarmid had plunged his blade and hit a lung. Blood poured off Terach as a result of the weapons being spelled, though the loss was starting to slow. He used his fingers to spread Israel’s wound and held his forearm just above it so his blood filled the wound, beginning the healing process.

Israel gasped. Fought for a second breath, then a third before shuddering, his normalized breathing bringing the room around them into focus with a whispered, “Thanks for the save.”

The sounds of discipline and punishment had given way to the slap of flesh against flesh. To moans and whimpers, to pleas for more, deeper. Harder. Faster.

Terach bit into his own wrist, opening it and shoving it against Israel’s lips.

Israel grasped the offering, his hands vise-tight.

He drank. Gorged with the hunger of a nearly starved blood slave. His cock hardened, hips lifting off the floor with the need to be touched, to have Terach’s hand on him.