feeling naked. “No,” I tell him. “I’m Emme, not your next meal.”
“Gerald,” he says. He licks his lips, slicing his tongue along his exposed fangs. He laps up the blood. I try not to gag when fluid slides down and out his mangled throat. I don’t do a great job. His actions pretty much sum up the fun that’s made up my evening.
“Why won’t you let me feed from you, Emme?”
“Do you really have to ask?” I say, doing my best to ignore him.
My legs are wobbly when I finally make it to my feet. I stumble forward with all the grace of a freshly dropped giraffe. I’m worn out from healing and the beatdown I received, and Gerald isn’t helping.
“Emme,” he says. “Don’t be like that. Come on over and let me have a taste.”
Gerald, well, back when he was whole, could have graced Parisian fashion magazines. His come-hither glance suggests he still thinks he can.
It takes more than a pretty face to win me over and Gerald’s has seen better days.
“Emme,” he sings. “Come play with me.”
There’s no sense in letting him think he stands a chance. “I don’t hook up with vampires,” I admit.
Despite the cold, here comes the bare beginnings of a blush. I try to hide it by giving him my back. I need to find us a way out. “What I mean is, I don’t let them feed from me.”
From what I understand, hooking up with a vampire is the same thing as allowing them to feed from you. Each vampire bite, suck, and swallow provide the participants an orgasmic rush. Normally, they don’t require much to sate their hunger. Except normally, they’re not decapitated and lying in pieces mere feet from me.
“You’ll like it, Emme,” he whispers. He slurps as if already tasting me. “It will make you feel good, precious.”
“I’m not your precious and you need to stop,” I tell him.
He doesn’t, excreting more of his will.
Vampiric magic cuts through the thick layers of lust and sin coating the air. I’m not normally taken by vampire charm and the pheromones their magic emits to attract their meals have no effect on me. But this time, I can really sense it.
I fumble around the enclosure, pushing my hands against the stone. “Abre,” I call out. “Abre.”
I mimic Bren’s motion, as well as the extra surge of magic he released when he broke through the simple spell.
Yelling, “open,” in any language would have no effect on the wards enclosing our house. They’re strong. These, however, shouldn’t stand a chance. They’re poorly made, and yet my actions have no effect.
Several drops of water trickle against my already soaked spine. I peer up. While this bubble feels slightly stronger, like the first, it won’t last.
“Emme,” Gerald calls. “Come closer. We’ll be friends and more my sweet.”
It’s comments like these that always have Taran rolling her eyes at the vampires.
I step away from the wall and walk around, putting more distance between me and Gerald. This bubble, cave, whatever this thing is, traps magic and feeds from it to maintain it. It’s why my magic and Gerald’s appear more pronounced. Still, there’s more to this place and even more I don’t understand.
My hands press against my hips as I eye up the wall, pausing when Gerald attempts to lure me to him. “I can feel you,” I say.
“It’s just the start, baby. I’m going to make you feel like you’ve never felt before.”
“I mean that I’ve felt your magic from the start. You don’t have to keep going.” I shake my head. “It doesn’t affect me like you might think.”
“Interesting,” he says. “Why don’t you come over here and we’ll test your theory?” He lifts his arm and motions me over. Well, that is his intent. But the way his body lies, his finger points toward the water.
“I promise, you won’t regret it,” he adds is if that will somehow seal the deal.
“You’re old,” I say. My cheeks heat when I realize how I came across. “What I mean is, you’d have to be to survive the decapitation.”
“So?” he asks, rather defensively.
“It’s nothing personal,” I say, quickly. “It’s just Misha usually permits his older vampire on his premises.”
His scowl adds several points to his already creepy factor. “I’m new to the master’s keep. He feels I need to prove myself.” His legs kick, similar to a child at the start of a tantrum. “It’s the reason I ended up here.”
I remove Bren’s shirt and ring it out.