James sat back on his heels. “Then put your accursed hand on my skin and read to me.” His eyes were blank, pitch-black and terrifying.
My shaking fingers touched his chilly arm. “Romania ... uh, the Romanescu. Seventeen hundred and thirty-one. The first son.” I looked up to see his eyes were blue again, a blazing heat to them that made him almost look … alive?
His hand went over mine, tightening. “What else?”
Shaking my head, I mumbled, “The only other word wasstrigoi. No surprise there.”
He released me so suddenly that I almost went over backward, but he was striding across the room, staring into the fire.
The horror of the victims James dragged through the door intensified, more often, closer together and I could barely stand after each cruel game of “feed, or fuck?” He’d bitten me on the soft inside of my elbow, on the other side of my neck. Even at the cleft of my ass oh, that had been the most painful of all. He’d taken to giving me fluids through an IV because I couldn’t drink enough to restore me.
“My sweet doll. Feed, or fuck?”
“Please, James…” I thought I was crying but my eyes were dry. There were no tears left for these poor people. “Please stop this. Just kill me and get it over with.”
He was so beautiful, the sadistic bastard, his suit fit perfectly over those broad shoulders, the flames from the fireplace highlighting his high cheekbones, that sinfully lush mouth. His head was dipped, scenting along a sobbing woman’s neck. She was pretty with blonde curls and dressed in club gear, maybe a dungeon or something with all that leather. She must have thought she’d struck gold with the monster currently holding her by the throat.
“Never, doll. I couldn’t lose you,” he purred cruelly, still smiling at me over the shaking leather club girl’s shoulder. “Now, tell me. Feed, or fuck?”
We stared each other down, a silent duel with the terrified blonde between us. My fists clenched, god, I wanted to fucking kill him! I wanted to beat him into a pulp. I’d never been a violent person. But now, oh … I would tear James apart. I would stab him right in his nonexistent heart, I’d…. Sighing, I repeated the same thing I always said. “Fuck her. Feed on me. And fuck you!”
After he was finished with the pretty leather girl, he was back, and between my thighs, slurping deliciously and laving my torn skin with his tongue. I could hear his low grunts and moans of pleasure. Wait … was that me? His thumb was strumming gently over my hardened bud, and two fingers slid up inside me. He had thick fingers, smooth and well-cared for. And they were pressing and moving deftly over my suddenly wet passage.
“N- goddamnit, no! You said….“ My head flopped back down, too weak to hold it up. “Doan’....” My voice died off and I stared blankly at the shadows on the ceiling.
James chuckled against my humiliatingly wet core. “I’m not fucking you. I’m making you come.”
“No….” I groaned despairingly. I couldn’t fight him. Even if I had any strength, he’d play his fucked-up game with me with equal ease. I could feel the strained tendons in my thighs loosen.
“It will help with the pain, my sweet doll,” James soothed me. He smiled up at me with his bloody mouth and I shuddered.
“Don’t. Just leave me alone,” I looked away from him. His beautiful face with his lips dripping with my blood and his heartless grin. He’d violated me enough. “You promised.” That sounded so childish.
His eyes narrowed, but James nodded. “So I did. Then I’ll have another sip instead.”
His teeth sank into my other leg. How was it possible to make it hurt even worse? The trail of fire running up my thigh seemed to spread to my chest. Maybe he was done with me and he would just suck me dry this time. That would be okay. No one was going to miss me. It felt harder and harder to drag in yet another breath, so I just … didn’t.
When I came back to the land of the living, I was lying in the huge, old-fashioned clawfoot tub, hot water swirling over my throbbing core and sore muscles. He was behind me, stroking soap over my arms and keeping me from sliding deeper into the water. His broad chest felt so solid, and it was warm. He almost felt ... human?
“Why didn’t you let me die?” I moaned.
“Shhh…” he soothed. “You’re not going to die.” Lifting my limp hand, he put it on his thigh. “What do you see?”
Sure enough, I could feel the tiny bumps rising from his skin, and I tried to focus my bleary vision. “First son of six brothers and a sister…” my eyes kept closing and James would jostle me awake. “Your father … uh … Alexandru Romanescu. Your mother … Sorana ….” Why wouldn’t he let me sleep and forget tonight? “A castle of white stone in … ah!” He’d pinched my thigh sharply. "Timi?oara. Your family is from there.”
"Timi?oara,” he repeated, almost reverently.
Chapter 11: You Know the Game, Doll
In which James finds Meghan’s breaking point.
Meghan…
He slept with me every day, now.
A constant presence that suffocates me. His hands always smoothing over my skin, mapping each inch. But James only makes me touch him to find the answers lurking under his skin after he’d fed.
The map of his skin told the story, each part of him had a new revelation as I passed my hand along his body. The raised words on his back told of his family, his position - son to the Ban of Timi?oara, Romania, meant to rule after his father’s passing.
