Taken by a Vampire

But to him, Ceana was beautiful, and Evan had seen that through his eyes. At the time Niall hadn’t thought much about it, but within the first few decades of traveling in his footsteps, he realized the vampire saw beauty in full spectrum—not just where every one else saw it, but where it actually existed, the true layers of beauty below the surface.



The restraint that Evan demonstrated with Niall until Ceana’s passing hadn’t been the usual thing for vampires. Niall had quickly learned that in his service. It was one of many unusual traits the artist had that separated him from his own kind, but it had made a lasting impression on Niall. Coming back to the present, he thought again about Evan’s decision to shelter Alanna. She was beautiful as a sunrise, no question, but like Ceana, there was something far deeper to her. Her brown eyes had the same depth and poignant understanding he’d often seen in his wife’s eyes, limited as her world was.



But Alanna’s world was pretty limited as well, wasn’t it? Though Ceana had been bound by poverty, and Alanna by servitude, they both lived in a heavily restricted world. They’d also found a way to live in that box, and make the most of it. Ceana’s last words to him had proven it.



It’s been a fine life, husband. Your love and the wee ones . . . I couldnae have asked for more . . . except more time. And that’s God’s realm, not a woman’s.



Though God took her from him first, sometimes he wondered if his decision to bind himself to Evan had somehow been a catalyst for everything that followed after. Soon you’ll be free to go your own way, and I know you were meant for that. I’m glad to have had such a bonny man . . .



He’d wanted to die with her . . . but not enough. Her acceptance of her fate echoed Alanna’s. It roiled in his gut, goading a rage he’d long ago dispelled. He was glad that Sheila had died after her mother, so Ceana hadn’t had to bear that.



Ach. It is what it is. Looking up, Niall was surprised, but not displeased, to find Alanna perched on a log. She had her feet drawn up, hands linked over her knees, the skirt modestly folded over everything. He wished she was still wearing her jeans so he could see that pretty arse and the intriguing terrain between her thighs exposed by the position, but she was still a picture. She seemed quiet, not expectant. Just seeking another’s company, he supposed. Or being ready to serve him . . . as Evan had required. He pushed away how good she’d felt sitting on his lap. He wasn’t going to jump on the offer like an impulsive boy in short pants going after a jar of candy.



Figuring out how her mind worked was more important. She honestly didn’t know what to do with herself unless a vampire had a to-do list for her. Picking up a towel, he swiped it over his face and chest and came to her, sitting down on the ground next to the log, his shoulder brushing her foot. She’d brought him a glass of ice water and offered it now, her feet sliding to the ground and her calf pressing against his shoulder. When her gaze slid over his bare chest, it gave him a pleasant idea. With the way things were pricking at him, he didn’t mind giving her something for her to-do list. Or at least taking the lid off that candy jar.



He nodded to the glass. “Rub the ice on me, lass. Help cool me down.”



Aye, that was going to cool him down for sure. A flicker in her eyes suggested she was wise to the irony herself, but she slipped her well-manicured nails into the glass and pulled out one of the cubes. Her cheeks pinkened in a fetching way under his close regard, her lashes fanning her cheeks. Sliding off the log, she folded her legs beneath her so she could lean over him. As she placed the ice against the base of his throat, her attention flitted to his face to make sure it was all right, before she made the ice glide down his sternum. He stayed on his elbows, watching the way she pressed her lips together, her eyes clinging to the movement of the ice. When she cut across his pectoral, following the dragon, then down to the nipple, he shuddered. She paused, but then kept at it, a few more turns there before she worked her way over his sectioned stomach muscles.



His skin was so warm, the ice began to melt almost immediately, so in addition to the cold pressure of the cube, drops of water trickled down his torso. He had a very pleasant vision of her lips making the same track, then lower. He already knew she was well-schooled in how to take a man’s cock in her mouth, sucking him to a state of repletion. Last night, it had been all Evan could do to pull free of her mouth and give over to Niall.



Christ, she wasn’t some whore. While the outside world might not see a distinction, he sure as hell did. Why had Evan opened this door? She didn’t have a will of her own, and Niall wasn’t a damn vampire who was going to assume she was his to use as he pleased, just because she called him Master. It did odd things to him, when she called Evan that, then flicked her gaze toward him, as if the two of them were an extension of each other. He wondered if she realized she did that. Evan obviously had.



She traced the male dragon, the vibrant colors of the scales. When she paused over the crest of the dragon’s head, centered over his heart, he wasn’t surprised she picked out the difference in texture between that area and the rest of the tattoo. If a person looked close, they could see the pattern, a symbol delineated in the design of the dragon’s scales.



“My third mark,” he said.



Every third-marked servant had one, a branded imprint on the skin. It appeared spontaneously after the mark was set, no control over its shape or meaning, except it always seemed to have some discernible significance, not just a random inkblot like a birthmark.



Her brow furrowed. “What is it?”



“The Hebrew symbol for chai. Life.”



“Oh.” He was glad when she changed direction. Intuitive lass. “Do you have a tattoo on your back?”



“Aye.” Shifting to his hip, he showed her the one there. She drew in a breath, not surprisingly. All of the work was striking, but that one always garnered the most attention. Done in black ink, the dragon covered most of his upper back, the wings angled so one curved over the beast’s head and followed the line of Niall’s shoulder, the other curved low so it followed his rib cage. He was a craggy-looking creature, horned and intimidating, but with the character and mystery of an ancient wizard in his steely-eyed expression.



Her fingers slipped over it, following the upper wing. When she reached the ridge of his shoulder, she was touching his hair, loose on his shoulders. She made a tiny stroke of it, a little tug as it caught between her fingers. When he shifted his gaze to her, she removed her hand.



“They must have taken a long time, especially with injections of Evan’s blood to hold the design. Was it painful?”



He gave her a short nod. Christ above, yes. He tapped the one on his chest.



“Evan did this one in front of an audience. I was performance art.”



It was far more than that, Alanna.



Niall bit back a deprecation. He should have known Evan wasn’t asleep as he should be.



I didn’t realize I had a bedtime. Do you want to come spank me, Niall?



If you’d fight fair, I’d break a two-by-four over your narrow ass.



Alanna’s eyes widened, telling Niall that Evan had let her hear that.



Keep rubbing the ice on him, Alanna. He’s still rather heated. Niall, tell her more about that day.



You’re the “Master” storyteller here.



He didn’t know why he was being petty about it. Hadn’t Alanna made it clear that wasn’t a luxury a servant had?



You are not the same as Alanna, neshama.



God, he hated how it made him feel, when Evan changed tracks like that. Niall caught Alanna’s wrist as she started to rub the ice on him again. “If he told ye to do something to me, and I refused, that’d be a pickle for ye, no?”



If Evan could reach him, he’d probably be physically hurled off the mountain. Maybe. What was goaded by irritation was tempered into curiosity for them both, as they watched her struggle with the question, Evan through Niall’s eyes.



“I can only serve my Master’s will to the full extent of my ability to do so. If you resist his will, and push me away, then I must see if his will is for me to force you to do his bidding.”



Niall gave her far slighter form a dubious look, but she shook her head. “My size is not the question. Just how far I am willing to go to do my Master’s will.”



How far are you willing to go to oppose it, neshama?



Evan hadn’t shared that one with Alanna, because her expression didn’t change. Niall answered that by answering her.



“As much as I’d enjoy a wrestling match,” he noted, gaze sweeping appreciatively over her, “we’ll call this a draw, lass. But I’ll ask Evan to tell the tale. I’m nae much of a storyteller, and he’ll include the bits you’ll like best. But be warned, he’s like looking for Walter Scott tae tell a true story about Scotland. Far more romance and legend than the sad reality.”



She touched the male dragon, her fingers resting on the third mark within the design. “This appears to be both,” she said quietly. “Legend and reality.”



He made a noncommittal sound at that, but lay back fully, lacing his fingers behind his head while she plucked another piece of ice out of his glass. As it made contact with his skin, sliding with sensual purpose over the tattoo, making the dragon’s scales gleam anew with the moisture, Niall tried to keep all his blood from draining into his cock. Given the story that Evan was about to tell, he didn’t hold out much hope for success.



Neither do I. Evan’s dry voice filled Niall’s head. Despite his disparaging analysis of my storytelling abilities, Alanna, I intend to tell it as it truly happened, and in great detail. Master Storyteller, indeed.



It was a private fund-raising event, a carnival for well-heeled individuals who preferred the pleasures of bondage and submission. The sizeable price to attend was donated to a domestic violence cause. Evan had offered his work for a silent auction, as well as agreed to do a special performance art demonstration at the request of the host.



Tiki torches and strung lights illuminated the grounds where the carnival was being held. There was no moon that night, but the sky was full of stars, given that the host, Tyler Winterman, held the carnival on his historic plantation property in the Florida marshlands off of the Gulf, far from any of the larger cities. Evan’s stage was an outdoor area set a little ways from the main carnival activities. The space had been cordoned off with black silk rope, but outside its boundary, chairs had been provided for those Masters and Mistresses who wished to watch. It was on the lawn, so there was enough soft grassy area for their slaves to kneel at their sides. At this event, the lines between Dominant and submissives were clearly drawn.