Page 92 of Trapped for Her Blood
“Do you think I am anidiot?” she calls out. “Even the weakest baby vampire could detect your scent. Fetch her!” she shouts.
The blanket flies off me and I’m lifted to my feet by two vampires dressed fully in leather, even covering their faces. Small holes expose only their eyes and nostrils, and zippers cross the place where their mouths should be.
“Come, little one,” Octavia says and it’s clear that she’s talking to me.
She’s even more beautiful now that I see her fully. Shorter than I am, maybe five foot two or three, she’s wearing a low-cut, red sweater and a tight black leather skirt that accentuates her curvaceous shape.
Her hair is dark, almost black, and styled with bangs and a straight bob that brushes the edge of her chin. Her skin is radiant, her lips bright red and lush.
Her eyes rise from my naked body to make eye contact, and a rush of admiration captures my soul. For some strange reason, I want this woman to approve of me, to be my friend, maybe even my lover.
Her dark brown eyes, which seem too big for the rest of her features, call out to me, capturing me in some kind of spell. I’ve never felt sexually attracted to a woman—not before this—but this feeling inside me, it’s so much more than a simple attraction. I will doanythingfor this vampire, anything she asks of me.
But no. I look down.
This is the vampire who trapped us down here. The vampire who tortured Ryker. Who killed Axe’s family, even if she seems to have forgotten him.
A battle rages inside me. Love and hate clash in an epic battle, like I can’t control my own mind.What is happening to me?
“That’s right,” she says, her voice alluring. “Come to me my darling. Be a good girl, do as I ask and perhaps I might spare you.”
Gritting my teeth, I shake my head. I have no intention of going anywhere near her—her guards will have to carry me—and yet I find I’m moving, my muscles tight but in motion as I fight to regain control of by body.
But I can’t.
It’s the strangest sensation, as if she’s willing me to move. Drawing me to her.
“What’s your name, doll?” she asks.
“Ember.” Why did I answer?
“That’s an unusual name.”
My body doesn’t stop moving until I’m standing directly in front of her.
“Octavia,” Ryker says. “Stop it.”
“Hand our little Ember a stake,” Octavia says to one of her leather-covered men, and he places a sharpened wooden stake in my hand.
“Now, which shall we kill first?” She smiles at me, as if she’s asking what kind of ice cream I want. “Shall I choose? Or would you like to?”
“Look them over,” she says sweetly, and I turn toward the men, unable to stop the motion.
“Out of kindness,” she says, “I’ll let you choose who dies first.”
My arm rises, gripping the stake tightly as my body and mind rage in battle. I’ve never wanted to kill anyone, certainly not Ryker, Axe or Zuben, but my desire to please Octavia is overwhelming.
“Perhaps you need some assistance,” Octavia says. “Hairy man. The one with the horse-sized cock. If you help her, she’ll stake you last.”
Axe takes a lumbering step toward me, alarm and fear in his eyes. She’s controlling him too.
Axe was right about her. Octavia can use some kind of magic, or something like magic, to make others obey her.
If it’s magic, can it be broken?
“Enough, Tavi!” Ryker grabs me and pulls me close to his side, holding me in the tight grip of one arm, my feet off the ground so I can no longer move where she directs me.
Octavia’s expression transforms.
