Page 55 of The Sanguine Selection
Pity.
“Thought so,” I murmur, releasing her throat. I take a step back, assessing. Always assessing. A thick fur coat covers her body, a coat that was once her father’s. It stinks of forest animals, but that is one of the reasons I have allowed her to wear it. It is a deterrent for me, for my brother, for our desires. Her own scent is exhilarating, from the perfume of her blood to her cunt, everything about this Blood Slave is enticing.
And that is not a good thing.
“Quickly now, come along.” I turn away, pulling her down the grand staircase and through the three story foyer to the front doors. Two members of the Vampire Pride offer me a quick bow and open the doors. I let out an, “Ahh,” as a whoosh of cold air hits us though I can tell my slave is not as thrilled.
Instead, she bundles herself even tighter in her father’s smelly coat, her soft blonde hair willowing in the breeze.
“Do you require the Pride to guard you, Sire?” asks Brim, a huge vampire, and head of the Pride. Quickly, I have learned of his undying allegiance to Marek and I. The bastard is loyal, there is no questioning that.
I wave him off. “Not this time, Brim. If anything out there is foolish enough to attack me, orher,” I gesture to the slave girl, “I welcome it. It has been almost two days since my last kill. You know how much I enjoy killing.”
A grin tugs at the corners of Brim’s lips, but ever the professional, he composes himself and gestures towards the stairs beyond with the sweep of a gloved hand. “Enjoy your walk, Sire.”
I pull in an unnecessary lungful of the fresh, cool air and start my descent, my boots crunching on the fresh snow. Tonight, the skies are clear of clouds, the moon—a waning gibbous— shines brightly, casting the blankets of snow in its soft light. The ground sparkles and it is breathtaking. One could almost forget out here, that the world is not at peace. That enemies lurk beyond the fourth ring,and even within.
I have come to terms with that fact, after the attack on our slave. She has not taken well to the crate, caged in our chambers, and I find her annoyance quite amusing. I would not have left her there tonight even if Marek had been able to keep watch. But the bastard had already left when I awoke, leaving me no choice but to take her with me anyway.
So I have leashed her for her own good. Because a leash shows ownership of the thing it is attached to. And she ismine.
And Marek’s, but that is neither here nor there.
“You are so damn slow,” I complain as the leash becomes taut again, a clear indication she’s fallen behind once more. “Move those little legs of yours, or do you require…inspiration to walk quicker?”
She harrumphs, and I swear I could hear her roll her eyes though she says nothing. I glance back and notice her shiver as we leave the grounds of Sintara, and I wonder if it's the cold or her fear that causes the reaction. “Are you afraid, slave?” I ask in a teasing fashion.
“Yes,” she admits, a little breathless, her eyes darting from tree to tree.
“Good. A little fear heightens the senses, don’t you think?” The wind is less harsh in the forest as I guide her across the tree line and pause. “This is the boundary separating the third and fourth rings. Historically, the wolves do not prowl the perimeter where the third and fourth rings meet. But things are different these days. They could be watching us at this very moment.”
I’m a bastard, I know, for wanting her to be afraid, for liking what it does to her body. First is the quickening of her breathing, then the escalating of her pulse, and the tightening of her pretty pink nipples beneath that offensive coat. My fangs ache as the scent of her fear hits my nose and a low growl escapes me. I know my eyes are becoming crimson, my desire for her after feeding from her, touching her lithe, little body, hearing the little noises she makes, the tiny gasps and sharp cries under the ministrations of Marek and I.
She is perfection.
Part of her appeal is how vastly unaware of the world she is, even regarding herself. She had never even been kissed much less experienced pleasure, never attended a ball, never had a meal she didn’t cook herself. It’s a wonder she survived as long as she has, so on her own, her father leaving her for hours or days at a time, as the other slaves have reported to me. As weak as she is, I find it appalling. Jasper has mentioned that she wishes to know the fate of her father, though I do not think she’ll like the answer. She’s under enough duress for me to add to it, not because I really give a damn about her emotional state, but because her stress levels change how her blood tastes. And right now it is sweet and decadent, a delicacy to be sure. It is like drinking from the fabled fountain of youth, a direct elixir of power. One suck off her neck and I was done for, her blood causing every inch of my body to tingle, strengthen. It made it hard to hold back what I truly wished to do to her, how hard she fucking made me.
We head left, down a path I’ve taken so many times. Jasper has seen to it that my route has been cleared of snow and lit lanterns hang in the trees lightning the way casting a soft, buttery glow.
“Wow,” my slave exclaims, seeing the beauty of the woods for herself while simultaneously having no idea how stunning she looks standing in the middle of it. Though I much prefer her without that fucking coat.
“What are you wearing under that wretched jacket?” I ask, turning to her and fingering the lapels.
“Please,” she begs, pushing my hands away as I reach to untie the leather band holding it together.
Before she even knows what’s happened, I’ve pulled the band free, yanked her hard against the trunk of a tree, and secured her hands above her head. I stop before her, fangs descending, and open the sides of her jacket. “No one stops me from doing anything, slave. I don’t fucking care what you want. It’s about what I want.” I unclip her collar and toss it over a low branch. “You do not get an opinion. You do not have the privilege of stopping me because you do not wish to obey. You have no choice but to submit.” Her heart is practically thundering, pupils dilated, breaths panting as I unbutton the cream shirt covering her. “And right now, I wish to see you, touch you even. Maybe sink my teeth into that pulsing vein in your neck or dip my fingers between your thighs. Or maybe you need a reminder of who is in charge.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her breath coming out as a mist before her face.
“Mmm,” I groan as the last button comes undone and I push the sides of her shirt away, revealing her tits. She shivers. “I know the cold must be excruciating on your human body. Just look how hard your nipples are.” She mewls as I grip the peaked tips between my thumb and forefinger, plucking and rolling. “Does this hurt?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” She wines as I flick her nipples, then lower my mouth, catching one between my lips and sucking. Her body trembles as I drag one hand down her taut belly to the edge of her pants. I release her nipple with a pop and stand up to my full height, her neck craning to look up at me. She’s so fucking small, so tiny. “Spread your legs for me, slave. There is so much of you I wish to explore in the cold, winter air.”
“But I’m s-so c-c-cold,” she hisses, her words shaking.
I lean down and brush her hair behind her shoulder, then lick the shell of her ear and whisper, “You must like to be punished.” She stiffens as I kick her leg to the side and land a hard spank on her clothed pussy. She keels, hissing between her teeth, her legs clamping together, but my knee is there blocking the action. “I said, spread your fucking legs, slave.”
