glanced up at him. Heavy lids covered eyes that were strangely radiant in the darkness around them. She tried to pull away, but his grasp became visceral, unbreakable. He pulled her wrist up to his mouth.
“From the moment I first saw you, I’ve thought of nothing but this.” His tongue brushed against the steadily beating conduit beneath her delicate skin.
“Your scent is so…”
His bite, when it came was intense. She groaned, her eyes closing tightly. He tore his mouth away, readjusting his hold. His mouth covered the vulnerable flesh at the crook of her neck. Blood shot into his mouth, flooding him with an alarming rush of heat.
He moaned, pulling her closer. He picked her up, molding her to him.
“Isn’t this an inviting sight.”
Caine pulled away from her violently, turning with a vicious growl, seeing his brother standing there as still as one of his stone effigies.
“Do, save some for me,” he asked in a fashionable manner although his eyes shone bright with the scent of her blood.
Caine looked down at her. “Shit.” He growled, lifting his wrist to his mouth.
Lucien inhaled deeply.
“Innocence? Not your usual poison.” A vague smile crossed his stunning face.
“She tastes as good as she looks?” Lucien’s voice was a monumental distraction.
Her blood weighed heavily in his stomach, finding its way into his head. Taking over there like a drug, awakening something ancient in him, something familiar.
“Don’t let her die,” he said tightly, falling to his knees.
“She’ll be dead by morning,” Lucien said, strangely intent. He took a step closer, his mouth open, tasting the air around them.
“But then again…perhaps not,” he said, mystified, as he approached his fallen brother and his remarkably innocent meal.
“I’m not certain this is going to work, but let’s give it a go, anyhow.”
He straddled her hips, bringing his forearm to his sharp, double incisors. He then bit; opening up the vein, filling up his own mouth with the hellish liquid. His lips descended, moving over hers, filling her mouth with his blood. He forced her lips shut, pinching off her airflow until she had no choice but to swallow.He repeated the process a couple more times, taking pleasure at the novelty of it all.
“I think that should about do it, little sister.” He cooed, silkily.
Chapter 3
She opened dry gritty eyes, feeling a deeply entrenched ache at the apex of her inner arm. She was lying immobile on a soft, narrow bed.
Lightning flashed, chasing the shadows. She saw him in that instant, a dark silhouette leaning against the far wall. The night sky flickered again, illuminating his face. His eyes were closed, his attention captured by the storm that loomed above them. Thunder rumbled, an augury of doom.
“You’re dreaming.” His voice was a caress, resonating in her head.
The roar of the surf thundered in her ears, growing by volumes as the moon washed the night with a luminous red glow. The ground beneath her was cracked open and bleeding.
Liquid fire burned her feet as she walked through the charred aftermath of the earth’s apocalyptic annihilation. She wore a floor length ball gown, its deep red fabric more reminiscent of black. The bodice was web of silken thread, twinkling dimly with glow of blood-red rubies.
She wore her hair loose, falling past her waist, long and black, as black as the oily surface of the sea that began to churn as she watched, boiling as it withdrew, sucked out by a behemoth undertow, leaving behind scores of fish, dancing on wet sands, drowning in the strangely vacant air.
She closed her eyes, turning away from the sight. A monster loomed behind her, a giant wave, cresting far out at sea.
“No, you must look.” A voice whispered close to her ear. “Open your eyes.”
Deep shades of opalescent fire shimmered inside the brilliant blue of his eyes. She could smell him in the air around her. His scent haunting her every breath. She turned into him, feeling his hands glide over her shoulders, caressing her.
“Caine?”
It was a delicious torture to be touched by him, each stroke stealing her breath, making her yearn for something she could not fathom. She gasped as his mouth slid down her throat, seeking the vulnerable flesh there. She felt a delirious anticipation, a desperate craving for something she did not understand.
He lifted his head, black eyes radiating the darkness. He was a part of that darkness, powerful and ancient, darker and more frightening than death itself.
“Maggie,” he whispered softly.
*****
The door to Maggie’s room opened a crack, a hand reached in, searching the wall for the light switch.
“Damn,” he mumbled when it clicked uselessly.
He swung the door wide, allowing the light from the hall to alleviate some of the gloom.
“Hello?” He tilted his head, listening.
“It’s bloody cold in here.” He entered, retrieving a blanket from the closet.
“There you go,” he said. His hands smoothing the blanket over her sleeping form.
“That’s nice.” His hands glided over her chest, cupping both breasts in his palms. He squeezed their peaks, chuckling when they responded.
“You like that, don’t you?” he whispered.
He glanced back at the open door, touching himself through his pants.
“Awe.” He groaned, shuddering as he stroked himself with increasing enthusiasm.
I want to put this inside of you,” he whispered thickly, fumbling with his zipper. He was close, his erection straining against the side of the bed where she lay, unresponsive.
“Not yet.” A voice rasped in his ears.
He recoiled violently, pleasure turning to horror as a hand closed over his, over him.
A scream was born in his throat but quickly died as his penis was jerked violently. “You like that?” Another yank tore muscle and sinew, separating his cock from his body, along with a fair amount of surrounding skin.
Blood and semen erupted from the front of his pants spraying the bed and its occupant in a rush of gore.
His head was wrenched cruelly to one side, exposing bands of flesh and tendons.
Violence glimmering inside eyes that had gone black with hatred as razor-sharp teeth tore into him, releasing a fountain of crimson.
His stomach quivered, revolting at the taste. He spat out what he could, backing away in revulsion. He looked down at his hand, disgust curling his lips as he planted the severed appendage in a shockingly appropriate place before letting him fall to the floor in a heap.
Chapter 4
“Code 3 to isolation. Code 3 to isolation.”
Julio was the first to respond.
“We got a live one?” he questioned.
“Yeah,” Tracey said, motioning toward the woman sitting up in her twin-size hospital bed.
Tracey was pretty, with her thick honey colored ponytail and a kick-ass body. She handled herself with a cool, collective demeanor, and she was a homosexual, which caused a lot of confusion among the male staff in residence at General Hospital’s psychiatric ward.
The two psychiatric technicians had forged