Wordless: new adult paranormal romance (Age of Blood Book 1) (2 page)

“Not that I know of. The King has summoned him a month ago now – and he's not happy about being ignored.”

Actually the King didn't give a fuck about Adrian; William, on the other hand, cared very much.

“I can imagine. Why has he been summoned?”

William’s eyes flashed silver – a brief, silent warning – and Vincent looked away. Good, the man wasn't a total idiot.

“Nothing of importance. Well, I see there's no cause for my being here, after all. Jessica, Mark.”

His captain and his soldier rose, leaving the room before him to get the car ready.

Then, just as he'd reached the doorframe, as though it had barely been an afterthought, William turned back and said:

“By the way… that AB neg?”

Vincent appeared surprised; he'd probably noticed he hadn't touched her or paid much attention to her. Openly, at least.

“What about her?”

William served him his best smile.

“How much do you want for her?”

She'd gone back to her small, barren bedroom; a single bed with a thin cover under which she shivered every winter, barred windows, a small wardrobe, and in the corner, a tiny school desk mostly taken up by an antediluvian computer. Next to it, stood the only thing that allowed her to stay sane: her bookcase.

They were all given a treat every week; some asked for clothes, or chocolate. One hundred and sixty-seven books stood proudly, each of them marking one week in that dreadful place.

Fay sat behind her desk and as she'd been asked to, opened her textbooks.

She already had a bachelor’s degree, but Vincent was making her take a master’s. Slaves like her had one common purpose: they were there to impress. Occasionally, she was required to talk – and when she did so, she had to stand out. 

It was far from a chore, as he’d let her choose the subject: literature. She got to lose herself in the purest form of escapism every day.

Not right now though; her body, cheated of an orgasm, just wouldn’t let her concentrate.

After a while, she gave up and put her fingers between her legs, trying to get the edge off by herself. She'd never been very good at that.

She sighed, returning to damn Oscar Wilde, but the words wouldn't make sense in her mind, until suddenly, a sentence stuck out.

Resist it, and your soul grows sick with the longing for the things it has forbidden itself.

Lord Henry was the wisest of men.

Attempting again, she closed her eyes and wet a finger with her lips before caressing her clit.

Better.

Her moan surprised her, making her smile. Another hand tentatively touched her nipples. This was getting interesting.

She'd been masturbating for a good five minutes when she realized why it was uncommonly pleasurable: she’d closed her eyes and managed to fool herself into believing that someone else’s fingers were on her skin. Nothing alarming in that, but she recognized the face of the partner she’d conjured in her mind.

Hell. That old vampire.

She might have chastised herself for it, but she could understand the fascination.

Most vampires loved to fit the stereotype, with dark, edgy clothing; capes, sometimes. He'd worn a smart, sharp, light blue suit that failed to hide his lean musculature, and his dark golden hair had been a mess – he rocked the just fucked look.

Shit. What a poor excuse for a human she was, lusting after someone who saw her as an entertaining toy, or maybe an appetizer.

She'd decided to take a shower when the door of her bedroom opened; no knock, so she immediately dropped to her knees, her head hanging low.

Another human would have asked permission to enter; they generally respected each other.

She wondered who it could be; Vincent himself, or one of the others, who had permission to enjoy whomever they pleased? She wasn’t the most popular choice: they weren’t allowed to bite her without an express authorization, and penetrating her wasn’t an option either… but as she’d learnt over the last three years, there were plenty of other things to do. 

“For Christ’s sake, get up!”

For the first time since she'd been brought to the house, she failed to obey an order; instead, she lifted her head and stared, open mouthed, in shock.

It was him. The object of her dirty fantasy. She could only gawk and blush, recalling what he’d just been up to – at least, in her overactive mind.

“Do you have clothes here?”

It took her a while, but she managed to gather her wits, and nodded.

Sometimes, when they were having a formal ball, Vincent liked to show her off with clothing. Of a sort.

“Then get dressed. We don't have a lot of time.”

Finally finding her voice, she replied:

“I don't understand.”

Then, with a few simple words, he forever changed her world. For better or worse, she couldn't yet tell.

“I've bought you.”

Two

William was pleasantly surprised.

He had seen his fair share of slaves; he could generally tell which ones had lost their spirits.

In the lounge, he would have sworn she had. She’d reeked of fear, without a single strand of rebellion in her demeanor. She’d been an automat, a doll coming on demand. Even as he bought her, he wondered if she would ever manage to adapt to the life he wanted to give her.

The woman he saw in front of his eyes now was a completely new kettle of fish.

Her eyes had questions, and she met his gaze. Sure, she looked away after a while, but he had hope.

Hope for what, exactly?

He watched her getting dressed. One glance at her wardrobe revealed that everything in there was either velvet or silk; dramatic crap undead country bumpkins loved so much.

No jeans. No yoga pants. Jeez, was the girl actually forced to walk naked everyday unless there was a party? From what he’d seen, yeah, probably.

The dress she put on had one function: making men hard. It worked.

It was poured on her frame and hugged her dips and curves. She wasn’t voluptuous – her thighs were about the size of his forearms – but accentuated like that, he saw that she indeed had curves. Sexy ones. A taut, firm, and perky ass. Small breasts, set off by a tiny waist and flaring hips. In his youth, they would have been described as birthing hips; now, if he said that out loud, Jessica and most of the vamps he knew would do their best to make his life a nightmare until he begged for mercy. Throw a rock in any Coven, and you’d hit fifty die-hard feminists.

Male and female vampires were equal in strength – or rather, their power had nothing to do with their sex. The vamps had resented humans for centuries, because to them, women were considered inferior. One of the main changes that had occurred when they’d become the ruling species on Earth was the rise of the feminist movement.

Obviously, it hadn’t made it to Riverville.

There was a huge slit along the leg of the little temptress in front of him, and for one instant, he imagined pushing both sides back, and feasting on her until they were both sated.

Wake up,
he told himself.
She is off limits.
After a beat, he mentally amended that statement, adding
for now.

The problem was what he read in her eyes; the reluctant interest. She blushed and wet her lips after ogling him, not making his struggle any easier.

Dammit. Some of the slaves he’d bought in the past had been plenty appealing, but as a rule, he’d never screwed any of them, even after their rehabilitation, even when they’d asked.

No point in lying to himself: he knew she’d be the exception. His desire for her was too consuming, almost visceral. He didn’t want her, he needed her. He’d have her on her hands and knees, on top, beneath him, backwards and sideways…

But not now. Not even anytime this year, either. No matter, he could wait. Time was irrelevant, at his age.

“Ready?”

“Should I pack anything?”

Good question.

“If there is anything you’d like to keep.”

She thought it out, glancing towards her bookshelf. He glanced through the titles, taking in an odd collection of classic and modern romance.

“We’ll replace those.”

They weren’t wasting time on a collection that was worth less than his shirt.

“I have nothing else,” she replied simply.

“Perfect.” Or rather a little bit sad, but convenient. “Hurry up.”

He had no intentions of staying in this place longer than necessary.

William really hated the way things were run in the country. Everywhere, he smelt and heard the fear and the despair of broken souls.

He started to walk, but ten steps in, he had to stop and sigh.

The girl was still at the other end of the corridor, running after him as fast as she could.

There goes nothing.

He returned to her and bent down to wrap one arm under her knees, and the other on her back; then, he lifted her and got the hell out of there, doing his best to ignore how small, soft, and precious she felt against him.

And failing.
Fuck
. He had to force himself to stop his grin every single time he stole a glance.

His good humor was short lived. Jessica had pulled the Rolls Royce around, and Mark was holding his door open. William saw the soldier’s smirk and the look in his eyes when he took in the woman in his arms.

Mark’s hand went straight up, aiming for one of her legs; he intended to touch her without asking, again.

His first infraction would be overlooked; it had all been part of a show. The country worked that way, and back when he’d ordered that everyone ought to stay professional and respect the laws during their investigations, they’d consistently hit against brick walls; the local lords got tight lipped, suspicious, and ended up balking at the slightest provocation.

So, they’d had to change their strategy. He’d discussed it with the other Knights, and they’d come up with a reform stating that soldiers were excused for promiscuous – and unlawful – behaviors, while on official duties.

As they say: when in Rome…

From what he’d seen, the foot soldiers just loved to perform the role of villains, sadly. Those who hated it, like Jessica, were the exception rather than the rule.

Until today, William had just rolled his eyes, indulgently blaming it on their youth. Right now? It was lucky his hands were taken, or he might have ripped Mark’s heart from his chest.

“Don’t,” he warned him coldly, before he’d moved more than a centimeter. “Remember your place, soldier.”

Mark seemed confused; probably because William didn’t use that tone as often as he should have. He was known for his leniency; his idea of right and wrong wasn’t quite in line with everyone else’s.

“Excuse me. I thought the slave…”

Enough of that.

Shifting the girl to prop her up on one of his elbows, he used his newly free hand to grab his underling’s throat, and effortlessly lifted him from the ground.

William turned to the girl, and her gasp revealed he almost certainly looked just as alluring as a zombie wielding a bloody axe, right about now.

Great. His eyes had gone crazy again.

He was pretty pissed off, but not even remotely threatened, so they’d probably just darkened to midnight blue.

“What’s your name, little woman?” he asked, as gently as he could.

He barely heard her stuttered reply. 

“Fay,” he repeated. Quite fitting, for someone as small as a pixie.

William turned back to the soldier struggling in his grasp. He was a newbie, which meant he needed to breathe almost as much as a human; he was doubtlessly one minute away from dying. Not permanently; one of the perks of being a vampire was how hard it was to get one of them to give up the ghost.

“Mark, meet Fay. Not the slave, not even the human.
Fay.
Got that?”

He choked something that did resemble a yes, so William dropped him on the floor.

“Good. Let’s go, shall we?”

He carefully lowered Fay on the floor and indicated the passenger seat.

“Where are we going?” she asked, before biting her lip, as though she was regretting daring to open her mouth.

He smiled encouragingly.

“Home.” Then, realizing that probably didn’t mean a lot to her, he clarified: “New York City.”

Back to his domain.

His hunt for Adrian was far from over, but he saw no issue in putting things on hold for a few days. Firstly, the man might drop his guard a little, if he relented. Secondly, he knew better than to bring Fay with him – or worse, to send her to his home by herself. She’d be gobbled up whole within a week, if he didn’t clarify her position right off the bat.

And what position is that?

He sighed. Generally, finding an occupation for his new recruits was the easiest part. He had none for her. Everything in him revolted against training her small, fragile hands to clean surfaces – or engage in any other strenuous activity. Administrative tasks would suit her better, if she had the brains for it, which meant that he was going to have to create a somewhat relevant opening suiting her skills. 

Unless…

He focused on her, ready to ask her age, but his thought was cut off when he saw how distressed she was. Her eyes betrayed apprehension, although she was trying to contain herself. Before he’d consciously chosen to do anything about it, one of his hands was gently stroking her back through the awful fabric.

“Shhh,” he breathed, hoping to reassure her. “You’ll fit right in, pixie.” 

It was a good thing he didn’t make a habit of attempting to reassure damsels in distress. Total. Failure.

That woman hadn’t shown one facial expression since he’d met her, regardless of what his peers had been doing to her body, and despite the fact that a stranger had just
bought
her, but now, she’d started to
cry
. She didn’t turn into a sobbing mess, thank fuck, but there was a single tear running down her face. That was enough. He practically pushed her in the back seat and closed the door as fast as he could.

He might be an all-powerful ancient renowned for his brutality, but William Drake was
not
equipped for dealing with crying women.

Fuck. He needed a cigarette.

Fay was terrified.

All her life, Vincent had been a familiar shadow. She’d known there would come a time when he would call her to his home. She knew that there, she was to obey his every command, or die like her mother and father: sucked dry. When she’d been old enough to understand, they’d told her he would touch her first, and fuck her eventually. For most, the transition from one action to the next took minutes – the touching was barely a prelude to the fucking – but as an AB neg, they’d guessed she would be kept pure a few days; virgins tasted better, apparently. That meant she was champagne, chocolate cake, and whip cream with a cherry on top.

They’d been right, although they’d underestimated Vincent’s taste for her blood – or his distaste for her plain features. She’d made it over a thousand days, and he still hadn’t defiled her; she’d come to believe she might be completely spared.

If she hadn’t been, she’d known that Vincent wasn’t like Adrian, at least; he just liked pleasure, not pain. There were worse vampires out there.

That future she’d believed set in stone had been completely wiped in one instant and now, she had no idea what would be in store for her. She knew nothing of the ancient; what if he was like Adrian? What if he was worse?

They say better the devil you know…

Eventually, she forced herself to breathe out and see things rationally.

There wasn’t a thing she could do about what had occurred, so there was no point in beating herself up about it. Her home – and her future – had hardly been all that, in any case.

She’d been terrified of Vincent. She’d seen him snapping necks without so much as a second of hesitation. She’d done her best to be perfect at all times… but if she displeased him for any reason, there was no doubt in her mind that he would have killed her. Hell, he would have anyway, eventually.

On the other hand, she wasn’t frightened of the ancient. It might have been stupid, but when they’d been alone in her room, she’d felt nothing, past the waves of lust she couldn’t dial down. Her life was too sensual for her body to know better.

The lust was a new factor. Normally, she wasn’t aroused until they forced it upon her by stroking her just the right way – no body could fail to be awakened by the right caresses, whether they desired to or not.

But watching him was enough for her insides to clench
.

Stupid. You’re just stupid.