Beauty Bites (10 page)

A man with a knife stood over him. The moment Ric’s eyes opened, the man attacked. Ric screamed a ten-year-old’s horror. The knife sliced through his arm. Blood fountained. He screamed louder. But when the knife slashed toward him again he snapped his mouth shut, leaped to his feet and ran until he blacked out.

He woke again. Same man, same knife. Same attack. This time Ric didn’t bother screaming. He rolled aside. The knife
whumped
into dirt. Two-handed, Ric grabbed the knife. The man tried to pull it away. They wrestled until Ric yanked with all his strength. Bone snapped. The man screamed and the knife fell into Ric’s hands. He jumped to his feet brandishing it, prepared to attack.

Aiden caught him before he did. “Good job, kid. The only one who figured it out faster was me. You’re going to make it.” And then, whispering in his ear for only him to hear, “I’ll make sure of it.”

Later Ric asked Aiden, “What is this place?”

Aiden said, “Training camp.”

“Military?”

“Trackers. Spies. Assassins.”

Later still, Ric saw Aiden filter out into the night. Ric followed, practicing some of the hiding techniques he’d learned.

The older boy stopped at an unmarked grave. “I know you’re there,” he said to the shadows where Ric hid. “You might as well come out.”

Ric wasn’t surprised. Aiden always seemed to know everything. Ric came out. “What are we waiting for?”

“A kid died three days ago, supposedly of an animal mauling. They buried him there.”

“Was it really an animal?”

“You know better.” Aiden turned to him then, and there was the barest gleam deep within those black eyes that told him Aiden was ferociously angry. “He does it on purpose. Turns children, young so he can control them, then waits to see if they survive. He calls it his first test. Doesn’t sound so horrific that way.”

Ric shivered, not knowing why. He was barely eleven then. “Who’s ‘he’?”

Aiden spat a name into his ear. “Nosferatu.”

Ric shuddered.

“Don’t ever say his name out loud.” Aiden stared into the distance. “He has a long reach around Chicago.”

Ric was confused. “He gives us shelter from the sun, blood when we don’t catch enough. He trains us. Don’t you trust him?”

“No.” The word was flat. “He’s turning us into murderers.”

“I don’t believe that. He cares about us—”

“You spend enough time standing here, watching, waiting to see if these massacred children rise. Watch frightened kids claw their way out of their graves, only to kill their first prey in blood lust. Or die in fiery pain if they’re not smart enough to evade the knife. Then see what you think. It makes me sick.”

Ric’s brows went up. “Why did you rescue me then? Take me home?”

Aiden spun on him, nostrils flared, lips thin. “What else could I do? Where else is there to go?”

Ric was shocked at the emotion blazing from the boy who was his mentor, his protector. Anger and pain bled from Aiden, and a hopelessness so profound it tore at Ric’s heart.

This boy had been Ric’s salvation, safeguarding his life, his sanity. Ric couldn’t let him suffer like this without doing something about it. If Ric’s parents were still alive…but they weren’t. Nobody but him and Aiden. It was up to him. Ric squared his shoulders. “I don’t know where we go. But we’ll find a place. We’ll find a way to leave, to live a better life.”

“You don’t
understand
.” Aiden slashed the air with one hand. “
He
isn’t a vampire to take defection lightly; he’ll kill us as an example to his other flunkies. And for the personal affront? He’ll make it slow and painful.”

“You’ll let that stop you?” Ric challenged.

Aiden’s black brows snapped together and his hand fisted. Then, slowly, both relaxed. “No. No, I won’t let fear stop me. All right, I’m in.”

They floundered with plan after plan, each one more desperate and less likely to succeed. Each day they lost a little more ground to the soul-killing training at Nosferatu’s tender mercies, and those of his sadistic teachers.

They nearly succumbed and became pitiless killing machines.

A little human girl saved them.

Eloise was barely six years old when she came to live at the big house. Her father kept her apart from the vampires, but Ric and Aiden had long since learned the secret ways of the compound. They sneaked into the girl’s room that first time because they could.

She captivated them with her innocence. She was lonely and thirsty for company, and she begged them to return when they could. The boys told themselves they kept visiting because they were bored. Little by little, each made the others’ lives a little less lonely. A little less cruel. They pulled each other back bit by bit from the brink.

Then Ric saw Nosferatu standing against a sapling Ric measured his own growth on. It changed everything. Even then, Ric understood spin and image.

By this time escape itself was no longer a problem. Aiden had taught Ric how to lay down false trails, and Ric taught Aiden how to foster false images. They would cross the newly formed state line, run as far as they could, then hide.

The problem was keeping Nosferatu from coming after them. Ric now had the start of the solution. The final piece was provided by the little girl.

Ric was fourteen and Aiden sixteen when they finally ran away from Nosferatu. They asked their little human friend to escape with them, confident of their abilities to protect her.

Eloise didn’t make it.

Now Nosferatu was after them again. And suddenly all Ric’s mindfucks and razzle-dazzle didn’t seem nearly good enough.

Chapter Seven

I went to bed but couldn’t sleep. It was too dark in my room, and the noises, chirping and whoo-whooing, were all wrong.

I certainly wasn’t bothered by thoughts of sexy Ric Holiday.

Skewer me with a scalpel. Yes I was. I
whumped
onto my other side and squeezed my eyes shut.

My phone went off, providing some much-needed electric light and manmade sounds. I snatched it up. The readout said
Hospital
. “Hello?”

“Doctor Synnove?” It was a boy’s thin voice.

“Teddy, honey, why are you calling so late? Are you okay?”

“I miss you. Read me a story?”

The poor sweetie. He couldn’t sleep either. I pulled out my ereader and thumbed open
The Big Purple Book of Fairy Tales
—there was a whole series of them including
Red
,
Purple
and
Blue
, but if you ask me, when they got to
Fulvous
and
Chartreuse
they jumped the shark—and read to him until he mumbled, “Good night.” By then I was sleepy too.

I dreamed.

Such innocuous words. So very different than the hot, sweaty, sheet-twisting reality. I blame the naked image of Camille burned into my brain, and Ric’s hot…everything. I don’t normally have such vivid, carnal dreams; at least not that I can remember. And wouldn’t both Freud and Jung have a field day with that?

I was a barbarian queen. My brave men had won a decisive victory against a rival clan chief and this was our victory celebration. My finest warriors and commanders stood at attention, awaiting their reward. Naked.

I paced before them, my white skirts swirling around my legs, my gown a suspicious cross between Princess Leia’s and Camille’s frontless/backless number. I gave a stirring speech. My warriors’ oiled muscles gleamed in the sunlight. As I prepared to choose, the men grew hard in anticipation.

One brown-bearded warrior pleased me. I grabbed his head, my fingers sliding into silky hair, and kissed him. His beard bristled against my skin, his mouth hot and moist against my lips. He tasted of war. His hands cupped my face reverently and he kissed me back, his tongue teasing inside my mouth.

A third hand skimmed my back. I raised my head. The men circled close, surrounding me. Another callused hand found the soft skin of my shoulder. Yet another slid under my dress to touch my breast. As the men fondled me until I moaned, they kissed me, each deeper and harder, to gain my favor.

“Enough!” A deep, dark voice rang from beyond the circle. “I am your bravest champion, my queen. I claim exclusive rights. Any who denies my claim, let him face me now in single combat.”

The men eased back as a tall warrior stepped forward. He was clean-shaven, with spiky blond hair and stunning blue eyes that captured my breath, even as his hands and mouth captured the rest of me.

He yanked me flush and kissed me. His mouth was fire; his hands were bolts of excitement. I arched into him as his tongue struck sparks that burst into flames.

I wrapped arms around his strong neck. “My tent. Now.”

He lifted me effortlessly. His mouth claimed mine as he strode into the cool quiet of my private domain. All around us burned aromatic candles. My warrior laid me gently upon the silks and furs of my bed.

Then he stretched out on top of me with his huge, heavy body.

“No.” I took him by his shoulders, his notched triceps like boulders under my fingers. “Beneath me.” I turned him as I spoke. He went obligingly onto his back. I swung a leg over him, sat astride his thickly muscled thighs and took his fully unfurled cock in my hands. I caressed its sleek length, feeling it fatten between my palms. A drop of liquid desire glistened from its tip. His was the most beautiful erection I’d ever seen and rose so majestically that it made my lips throb. I had to do it.

I slid down his thighs and sucked him into my mouth.

He groaned. I slicked my tightened lips rhythmically over his cock. The large vein bumped under my lips, the sleek skin slid under my tongue. I scraped my teeth on the head. He shouted at that.

Outside, the cheers of my men urged me on.

I straightened and reached behind my neck. His eyes riveted to me. A tug, and the bodice of my dress fell to pool at my waist, leaving my breasts bare to his hungry gaze. His eyes burned red.

I cupped myself. My breasts filled my palms and overflowed. Under his fiery gaze, my nipples hardened. I plucked them and moaned softly.

He half-sat, his belly a turbulent sea of ridges, and grabbed the dress at my waist in his large, dark hands. A jerk of arm muscles, and he split the garment in two, tossing the strips aside. “My queen,” he purred. “I am ready for my reward.”

Naked, I gazed down at his hips. “So you are.”

I slid up his body, flattening his throbbing erection under me. My palms landed on his heavy bronze pectorals. I pressed a kiss to his bulging chest, opening my kiss to wet his nipple. It pricked hard. I blew on it, then repeated my ministrations with the other.

“My queen.” His voice was tight. “
My
queen.”

“I like that.” I rocked my hips, rubbing myself against the ridge of his cock. I was slick and hot and open for him, and a simple tilt of his hips lodged the head of his erection inside me. My breath caught. He groaned. He felt so hot, so good.

He grabbed my waist in his hard hands, the long fingers nearly meeting around my back, and prepared to thrust deep.

“Wait.” I panted it. His hips stilled but his fingers, tightening spasmodically on my waist, shouted how hard he found it not to drive himself inside me to the hilt. “You shall have your reward. But on my terms.”

He groaned softly but I would make it up to him. I raised myself —and drove down onto him.

His thick erection filled me with slick power. I moaned. He shouted. The men outside echoed him. Not only was this his reward for victory, but a token of luck for an abundant harvest. Clutching his shoulders for purchase I began to ride him like a stallion in full pounding gallop.

He clasped my hips and drove up into me with matching power. Need rose within me, began to overwhelm me. I cried out.

More. I needed more. I fell against his chest and pummeled my hips onto him. He released me to slide one hand between us.

He pressed his fingers against my clit.

I arched back with a gasp. He rubbed hard. I whimpered. He seized my nipple with his mouth and suckled.

Lava pleasure spilled through me, breasts, belly, pudendum. He suckled and rubbed me as I churned hips against him until I swelled with fire and need. I grabbed his head with both hands, pulled him from my breast and thrust my tongue desperately into his mouth, frantically beating against his hips.

He growled under me. His fine skin sheened with moisture. His hand worked me fiercely. I rose to dizzying heights of pleasure. Ecstasy beckoned.

Thrusting my tongue one last time into his mouth, I seized that rapture. Climax thundered through me as he found his own release. He shouted, barely heard over the pounding of my heart.

“Synnove,” my warrior said. “My sunshine. My love.”

Bliss flowered within me. The harvest would indeed be rich.

The next morning a stupidly exuberant sun streamed through the windows with all the subtlety of a middle-school brass section. I stumbled into the empty kitchen and blinked my way through a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee. After showering, I found a new set of undies waiting. Twyla had come and gone like a little lingerie-spinning Rumpelstiltskin. Hopefully she wouldn’t ask for my firstborn. She’d have a long wait coming, despite the dream.