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  But she couldn’t let him go—she just couldn’t. “Please,” she whispered desperately. “Please, don’t make me leave you.”

  “Leave me?” A dangerous light flickered in those green depths. “You’re not leaving me, Larissa. Not tonight. Not ever.”

  A grateful warmth unfolded in her heart, so keen and piercing it was almost painful. Then Adrian thrust her against the bar, turning her away from him so her belly was pressed against the polished wood, her breasts jutting over it as she braced herself on her hands. Grabbing her hair, he yanked her head upward and she stared, wild-eyed and frightened, into the mirror. Reflected behind her, she could see Adrian, his mouth twisted in an expression that was more snarl than smile.

  You know what happens to girls who tease tigers.

  Yes. Yes, she did. And she wanted him to devour her, to consume her utterly. So why was she so completely terrified?

  Suddenly, she heard his words again, the words she’d thought were a promise. You’re not leaving me, Larissa. Not tonight. Not ever.

  A promise—or a threat? His emerald eyes held her as he whispered in her ear, his breath hot against her upstretched neck, “I tried to warn you, Rissa. Now tell me to take you.”

  “Yes,” she hissed. “Adrian, please. Please take me.”

  With that, he grinned, and she saw the flash of light on his impossibly long, sharp teeth for just an instant before he drove his cock inside her and plunged his fangs into her throat.

  * * * * *

  Rapture crashed over him, so rich and thick it stunned his mind into silence. There was nothing, nothing but the hot explosion of her blood in his mouth, the searing throb of his balls as he shot inside her, filling her cunt even as he sucked and swallowed. They were locked together, welded into one, rocking in an endless, timeless ecstasy.

  Rather than fading, his orgasm grew stronger, soaring to impossible heights as his balls contracted again, pumping his fluids into her. Her blood coursed through him, intoxicating—he was drunk on her, drunk on her essence, feeling her inside him just as he was inside her. Her spirit, her strength roared through his veins, goading him higher into a white, silent realm where nothing existed but the fire in his loins, the rich, salty taste of her in his mouth…

  Her mouth was open, her neck taut with screams, but he could hear nothing, nothing but the thunder of his pulse in his ears and the distant, frantic hammer of her fading heartbeat…

  Roaring, Adrian threw himself back, tearing out of her violently as she collapsed to the floor. He reeled backward, panting, and caught himself against one of the booths, his gaze never leaving her still, huddled form.

  Jesus. Oh Jesus. What have I done?

  He wanted to go to her, touch her… He didn’t dare. He was too terrified she would be dead.

  “Rissa? Larissa!”

  Then she moaned, the sound as faint as the mew of a newborn kitten. Relief tore through him, so fierce it left him trembling. He staggered to her side, gathering her limp form into his arms. Her heartbeat was so low, just the merest flutter of life in her chest. Her head lolled loosely on her neck, and Adrian flushed with self-condemnation as he saw the two ragged puncture marks on the side of her throat.

  Oh, you bastard.

  It didn’t matter how hard she had pushed him. It didn’t matter that her mouth had tormented him until he was half-blind with lust. There was no excuse. He hadn’t warned her, hadn’t even tried to prepare her…

  What he’d done was unforgivable.

  Now there was only one thing he could do. Grimly, he pulled on his clothes and yanked a heavy linen cloth from one of the dining tables. The crash of fine china as it shattered on the floor echoed the silent, jagged cry of his fractured heart.

  Not even that disturbance could rouse Larissa. Carefully, he wrapped her in the soft white tablecloth and lifted her up in his powerful arms.

  Chapter Five

  She’d awakened in the harsh white glare of a hospital. For a moment, Larissa had been convinced she was dead. Then she saw the bag of crimson fluid hanging on a hook above her bed, the red liquid flowing down the plastic tube into her arm.

  Policemen had come, asking her if she remembered what happened. She’d shaken her head weakly. As they’d left, she’d heard one of them mutter, “Goddamn Goth freaks. There’s a few every year.”

  But she did remember. She remembered every second of her night with Adrian. His fierceness. His tenderness. His unexpected hesitation.

  You’re not leaving me, Larissa. Not tonight. Not ever.

  She didn’t feel any different, though. After two days they’d discharged her, and as she’d walked out, unaffected by the bright Monday morning sunlight, something inside her had almost grieved.

  So much for that myth.

  You don’t really believe it? Larissa asked herself sternly. She was sitting on the edge of her bed in her Upper East Side apartment, dressed in a gorgeous, wine-red 1940s ball gown. Matching silk opera gloves covered her arms, and the sequined mask she’d chosen for Darlene’s Halloween party lay beside her on the coverlet. She’d added a scarf to conceal the fading marks on her neck, although there was hardly any need—the doctors had been puzzled at how quickly they’d healed.

  She doubted they’d even leave a scar. Except on her heart.

  No, she didn’t believe it. He was a man, that was all—inhumanly charismatic, maybe. Most psychopaths were. But she didn’t believe that, either. Whatever else Adrian Dane might or might not be, one thing she was certain he wasn’t, was mad.

  Shaking herself briskly, Larissa rose, grateful when the buzz from the front desk cut through her wandering thoughts. Picking up the mask, she headed down to the lobby.

  She was striding toward the doors and the taxi she could see waiting outside when the building’s desk clerk called after her. “Miss Hardy!”

  She turned and saw him coming toward her with a single rose in his hands. A single blood-red, long-stemmed rose.

  “Thank you, Matthew.” She took it, feeling the light prick of thorns through her gloves, and went outside to the taxi.

  There was an envelope tied to it with crimson ribbon. In the backseat of the cab, she opened it, admiring the elegant silver-foil engraving. It was just what she would have chosen to use herself.

  He’d done it, then. In a way, she was glad—it had been a good marketing idea.

  She ought to have been furious with him, she knew. She definitely ought to have reported him to the police. But Larissa couldn’t find any trace of resentment inside her. Confusion, yes, and a strange sense of loss, but no anger, no wish for vengeance.

  It was over, that was all.

  Raising the rose to her face, she inhaled its sweet fragrance, picturing how Sang Rouge would look tonight with its chandeliers blazing, masked and laughing people swirling gracefully on the dance floor. An enchanted place, she thought to herself, and laughed slightly. It had certainly enchanted her.

  As had its owner.

  Glancing out the window, Larissa saw groups of Halloween revelers, their masks like a slideshow of the supernatural. Devils, demons, monsters—and yes, vampires—swirled past in the darkness, visible for just a moment and then gone.

  Where did all those myths come from? she wondered suddenly. What if they’re not simply old stories? She remembered a college course she’d taken once—Ancient Religions and Primitive Beliefs. The instructor, a bearded, bespectacled fellow who favored tribal prints and Birkenstock sandals, had lectured frequently on the subject of universal archetypes.

  Every myth must be viewed as an expression of reality, however changed or distorted. There’s a core grain of truth buried in any fable. Our job is to dig for those truths, setting aside our preconceptions.

  Rapping on the safety glass, she spoke to the cab driver. “I’ve changed my mind. Take me downtown.”

  * * * * *

  Floodlights illuminated the delicate gold lettering of the sign above the entrance, but a small notice on the door read “Closed for
private party”. Larissa bit her lip, trying to peek through the wooden slats of the shutters. The place was well lit, but she couldn’t sense any bustle inside. In fact, except for the lighting, Sang Rouge appeared completely deserted.

  Hesitantly, she tried the door. It wasn’t locked and she slipped inside, betrayed by nothing more than the soft rustle of her full, deep-red skirt. She peered into the main room. The place was empty.

  Then she saw him, standing in the shadows at the edge of the dance floor, his eyes closed. An old Billie Holiday tune filled the air. He seemed so vulnerable standing there like that, his head thrown back, his stern features lax as he listened to the music. He was dressed in a vintage tuxedo, his tousled black hair just brushing the collar.

  He was so handsome it almost took her breath away.

  There was a table set with places for two, just to one side of the dance floor. All the other tables had their chairs turned upside down, their legs jutting into the air like a forest of elegantly-carved toothpicks. On the one table in use, candles burned in their silver holders, their white tapered lengths already half-consumed. As Larissa looked around, taking it all in, the song came to a close and then started again. Adrian didn’t move.

  How long had he stood there like that, his eyes closed, waiting to see if she would come? Hours, maybe. Maybe ever since sunset.

  Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you? Do you know how long I’ve waited, Rissa?

  Her heart ached, watching him. It was time for the waiting to be over.

  Silently, she descended the three steps into the main room. But as quietly as she moved, he must have heard her because his eyes opened, their piercing emerald green blazing with longing.

  Adrian stayed unmoving as she walked toward him. Then, still without speaking, he took her into his arms.

  They danced, revolving slowly around the empty floor, their bodies barely touching as the song played again and again. Finally, Adrian murmured, his voice rough with relief, “I didn’t think you’d come.”

  “Neither did I.”

  “Larissa, I—”

  She raised a hand to his lips, silencing his apology. “It’s not enough just for you to drink my blood, is it?”

  His eyes widened momentarily. “No.”

  “Then…” She bit her lip, feeling tears sting her eyes. “Then you can’t really keep me forever, can you?”

  “No. Not unless you choose to drink mine.”

  Larissa stared up at him. “You mean, I have to…”

  He nodded, his gaze never leaving hers. Moving closer, she laid her cheek against his chest, felt his arms close around her as they continued to dance. The heat of his body soothed her, arousing and yet at the same time comforting. Intoxicating—and as familiar as home.

  His hands trembled slightly on the small of her back. The throbbing ridge of his erection pressed against her belly. She felt the muscles of his throat work as he swallowed. “Larissa. Larissa, I would never…never ask you—”

  “Don’t. Don’t ask.” She cut him off abruptly. Raising her head, she breathed in his ear, feeling his whole body stiffen as he heard her words. “Don’t ask, Adrian. Make me.”

  He jerked his head back, staring down at her in shock and disbelief. Then he dragged her against him, kissing her fiercely, his mouth moving over hers as if starved for the taste of her.

  Pinning her to him with one arm, he yanked off his tie, his jacket, unbuttoned his shirt. Her fingers worked eagerly at his belt until the proud length of his erection jutted before her. Closing her gloved hand around it, she pumped it lightly, hearing him gasp as the red silk caressed him. He lowered his mouth to her breasts, dragging the bodice of her dress down with his teeth. Seizing one nipple between his lips, he sucked it ravenously as his hands worked at her zipper.

  Her dress slid downward in a rustle of red satin, leaving her standing in nothing but her garter belt, heels and gloves. Had she known this was where she really was going, hours before as she’d carefully dressed? She must have, she realized wonderingly—or why else would she have neglected to put on panties?

  Drawing back, he looked down at her, admiring every inch, each luscious curve. “Oh Rissa,” he breathed. Then he pulled her to him, tumbling them both downward, dragging her atop him and pushing her down onto his cock. She cried out as his rock-hard shaft impaled her, filling her utterly, jarring her almost to the brink of climax. Poised above him, she quivered as fire raced along her veins.

  Clasping her hip with one hand, Adrian moved her up and down on his cock, while his other hand played through the curls of her sex. Sneaking one finger between her folds, he ran it around her opening then forced it inside her alongside his shaft. Larissa whimpered, and pushed down against him.

  “No. No, sweet Rissa. Not yet, my lovely.” He fucked her like that a moment longer, stroking both his finger and cock inside her. Then he slid his finger out, smearing her swollen clit with her juices, and glided his finger back and forth over the throbbing nub. She moaned, biting her lip, trying to hold back the conflagration building inside her. She was going to come, right now, right…

  Adrian stopped stroking, leaving her shuddering, gasping, on the very brink of orgasm. “No. Not like this.”

  Seizing her hips, he pulled her to one side, rolling her smoothly onto her back as he rolled with her, his cock still buried inside her passage. Holding himself above her, his shirt falling open around his broad chest, he pushed down into her lightly. She cried out, arching her back, wanting more, wanting all of him inside her, now.

  “You like that, Rissa?”

  “Oh Jesus, yes.”

  “You want to come with my cock inside you?”

  She nodded. His emerald eyes held her, feral and intent.

  “You want me to fuck you, pound my cock into you, take you ’til you scream and beg for more?”

  “Yes. Oh God, Adrian, yes!”

  He grinned, his expression hard, forceful, utterly dominating. “Then bite me, Rissa.”

  He thrust inward, and paused. Her cunt clenched in longing. Would she? Could she? Did she dare?

  Then Adrian let his weight down upon her. Wrapping his arms around her thighs, he dragged them upward, groaning as he rammed in to the hilt. His face was pressed against hers, his breath gusting in her ear, his entire body quivering with tension as he fucked her ruthlessly. Larissa felt lust coiling like a snake in her belly, tight and hot and yearning toward a bliss that was just out of reach. His cock stroked inside her, pounding her passage, and she could feel her orgasm growing, building, gathering like a storm about to burst…

  The smooth, warm skin of his neck was pressed against her cheek. All she’d have to do is turn her head, and…

  “Do it,” he whispered urgently. “Do it, Larissa!”

  Shuddering, she hesitated—and he froze above her, pulling out of her quickly, leaving her gasping as her cunt clenched around a sudden, unendurable emptiness. Her need roared upward, fierce and undeniable, and she thrust her jaw forward, biting down ’til she felt the skin break. Adrian slammed back into her, howling in triumph.

  His balls pulsed against her ass as he shot into her, the hot jets of his semen triggering her own climax. She snarled, biting harder, tasting the rich, salty tang of his blood in her mouth. Releasing her thighs, Adrian clasped her head against him, forcing her to drink deeper as his body arched in ecstasy. His cock throbbed inside her, spilling stream after stream of come deep in her cunt, and a second peak burst through her, searing like fire as she swallowed his essence, binding herself to him forever.

  * * * * *

  The candles had burned down to soft, molten stubs before Larissa could summon the energy to open her eyes. When she did, she gasped.

  Had she thought Sang Rouge was enchanting? It was a fairyland. Light sparkled everywhere like gleams of rare diamonds—off the crystal, the silver, the chandeliers. The very air seemed speckled with light.

  “Yes,” Adrian murmured above her. “It’s like that.”
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  He lifted his head, and she smiled up at him tenderly, running a finger over the soft curve of his lip. The marks where she’d bit him were already starting to heal. “Forever?” she whispered, and he nodded.

  “Forever.”

  He rolled off her, his arms gathering her close, and she laid her head on the warm swell of his shoulder. Trailing her hand down over her belly, she cupped his softened cock, squeezing it lightly. He flinched slightly. “Stop that.”

  “No.”

  “Stop that. I’m sore.”

  “Awww,” she cooed. “Worn out already?” Sliding downward, she gave his cock a soft, teasing kiss—a kiss that turned quickly into something more as she wrapped her lips about it, stroking with her tongue. It hardened beneath her ministrations, and Adrian hissed as she sucked it deeper, feeling it glide against the strange new length of her fangs.

  “Damn it, Rissa! I said stop!”

  Raising her head, Larissa smiled wickedly. “Make me.”

  The End

  About the Author

  An award-winning author who received three CAPA nominations in her first year of publishing, Sierra Dafoe has been writing for as long as she can remember, beginning her career with the classic tale “Tommy the Turtle” in second grade.

  She has since expanded her repertoire of animals and now pens sexy werewolves, dragons, and other shapeshifters. She also enjoys vampires, sci-fi, epic action-adventure, and the occasional foray into the Middle Ages.

  Sierra lives smack in the middle of New Hampshire’s White Mountains with her incredibly tolerant hubby, her thoroughly obnoxious cat, and her twelve-year-old puppy.

  Sierra welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

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