Voss heard the noise behind him as the heavy man struggled to his feet, but he ignored it and instead spoke to the woman. “A bit dark down in here, isn’t it, m’dear?”
Her neck and the expanse of her bosom gleamed pale in the dimness. The blood from her face had trickled down over her throat. It was still fresh; glistening and raw, and its scent teased him. A young woman’s blood, cut with fear, rich and sweet. He could already taste it.
Her mouth moved but nothing came out, yet Voss stepped closer, reaching for her arm.
“Come,” he said. “You don’t want to stay here.” He turned just as she gasped in alarm, his arm whipping out to crash solidly into the other man, who’d lunged at them.
One effortless slash against the attacker’s gut, then an elbow smashing into the side of his head. This time the man collapsed like a stone. The aroma of his blood filled the air, heavy and metallic. And plentiful.
Voss wasn’t even tempted.
During this additional altercation, Voss hadn’t loosened his grip on the woman’s arm, and now he turned back to coax her.
“Come now,” he said again, leaning closer to get a better whiff of her bloodscent. Quite fine. “He won’t bother you again. Let’s get you somewhere safe.”
She made a whimpering sound, and he banked the glow of his eyes. He’d kept his fangs sheathed all this time; there was no reason to frighten her any further.
He had other methods, and he preferred a willing partner.
Once she understood that pleasure awaited, she’d be willing and ready.
He’d already stripped off his gloves, and now, with a bare finger, he reached out and swiped the blood from her cheek. His skin seemed to heat as the liquid touched his flesh, and he brought his finger to his lips. A delicate taste, just there on his mouth…warm, but a bit thin. Not as sweet as he’d expected, or hoped. But pleasant enough. It would do.
She was still gaping up at him with frantic eyes, and Voss tugged her closer. “You’re safe now,” he murmured, and deftly shifted so his foot brushed against hers.
So simple, so easy. He allowed his eyes to shift and beckon, to soften into a quiet glow. Her tension eased as he captured her gaze, just enough to take the edge off her panic. Even in this dimlight, he could find the center of a mortal, he could tug and coax and lead…lure…
She stumbled a bit and he moved closer, still holding the eye contact. “I want to taste you.”
Her breath stuttered and she stared at him, her hand trembling against her throat. Her lips parted but nothing came out.
“May I?” he asked, but he was already moving in. Closer. The warmth of her breath puffed against him, buffeting his mouth, the smell of bloodscent filling his nose.
He smiled. Then he released and loosened the thrall he had cast upon her so that she knew what he was about to do.
So she would feel the pleasure.
She softened and her eyes fluttered. Her lips curved in sensual delight.
His fangs had emerged and he showed them to her. “It won’t hurt,” he murmured, lifting her arm, smoothing away the sleeve of her frock.
Then in a burst of ferocity, he changed his mind and reached for her shoulders. She muttered and shifted, and he pulled away to look at her. A bit of fear leaped there…fear, but then it faded, replaced by an edge of curiosity and desire.
The glamouring, the thrall, was no longer necessary: he saw only clear need and question. He smiled and bent to her neck.
She stiffened and gasped in shock and delight—there was always delight!—as his fangs sank in, down into the soft flesh.
Ah.The blood, the sweet flood of it, the smell and taste of iron and fear and naked desire poured through him. His veins surged and filled, his body heated and the familiar throb lifted his cock. She trembled, shuddered, her hands against his shoulders. Whether she were pushing him away or merely steadying herself, he wasn’t certain. He didn’t care.
When he wanted, he took.
She moaned against him, suddenly soft, suddenly pressing her body all along his. The curve of her breasts and the swell of her arse were tempting, and he pulled away from her neck long enough to smother her mouth with his. Heat mixed with the heavy iron of her lifeblood. She shuddered beneath his kiss, her lips opening, and the warm, sleek thrust of her tongue shared the blood on his lips.
That was the way of it. They always wanted more.
And for the Dracule, it was a dual-pronged need: the desire for hot, sweet, life-sustaining blood, combined inextricably with sexual desire. One fed the other: the dual penetrations, the heat and sensuality, the sleek, pulsing sensations, the intimate tastes and scents.
She shifted so her hips moved against him, little gasps and sighs coming from deep in her throat as he returned to feeding, to drawing the pulsing blood from her in the same primitive rhythm of coitus. The girl shuddered, vibrating with desire, her fingers curling into his arms.
