Jess Haines: Enslaved By the Others

Well, not all. His eyes narrowed, and a hint of red came to his pupils, his fangs peeking out between his lips as he spoke. “My. You do like walking the hard road, don’t you?”

Before I could retort, he had me twisted around so my back was cradled against his chest, and he had my wrists pinned at my stomach with one hand. The other was at my throat, his thumb digging under my jaw to force me to tilt my head to the side and expose my jugular. His fangs scraped over my skin, and a scream was dragged out of me as I struggled vainly against his hold.

“Ah, yes, I remember now. This is what you fear, is it not?”

My only answer was to increase my helpless squirming, a thin sound of pain and terror dying in my throat.

“Well then, pet, since you’re not much impressed by pain, perhaps this will deter you.” His cool lips trailed upward, rubbing against my skin like melting ice until they brushed against my earlobe to whisper his threat. “Every time you disobey me, I will bite you. Make no mistake, the last time I did so was in haste. From now on I will make every effort to make it last. Each ... and every . . . time.”

As those last words trailed off, he struck, his fangs piercing my skin so quickly and cleanly that all I felt was pressure, not pain. Then, whatever the hell it is in vampire saliva that makes it feel good kicked in—and this time I was writhing against his hold for a totally different, far more shameful reason.

Unlike last time, he didn’t suck greedily at the wounds, drawing my blood as rapidly as possible. Instead, it was something infinitely worse; he used his lips and tongue to do things that had taken previous lovers both hands and a map. Every twitch of his lips sent new pulses of pleasure shooting like lightning down my spine, making me shudder in ecstasy. He took his time about it, too, never sucking hard enough to steal more than a few drops of blood at a pull.

By the time he withdrew, I was desperately aroused and so caught up in his arms that there wasn’t a thing I could do about it.

Copper-scented breath washed over my cheek as he pressed a kiss there, even that small touch enough to set my now hypersensitive skin aflame. “Remember, pet. This. Every time.”

Oh, I remembered. Despite the danger, despite a tiny part of me knowing exactly where I was and whom I was with, all I could think about was being pinned under Royce’s weight, the feel of him inside me, the pressure of his mouth on my throat. Max’s bite made it feel like I was there again, in that moment, enthralled by the pain and pleasure that made every cell in my body burn with need. With an intense longing to do anything— anything —to feel it again.

Max unceremoniously dragged me over to where the statues stood in silent judgment, pressing my wrists to the wall and then shackling them over my head. He followed with my ankles, cuffed roughly two feet apart with only inches of slack. Dismally, the first thought that occurred to me was that he was doing it so that there wasn’t even the slightest chance I might rub my legs together to find some relief.

I dangled in the chains, gasping for breath, watching him with heavily lidded eyes. I couldn’t move just yet, and the shock and need had not worn away enough for me to think of anything outside the blaze of desire.

“Now, I will give you one more opportunity to do as I told you. Consider your options.”

With that, he left me hanging there—in every sense of the word.

It didn’t take me long to figure out that being stuck in chains sucks.

The inability to scratch or rub at an itch because your arms are up over your head and you can’t shift your weight is torture. Particularly when you feel like there’s a fire burning between your legs. The knowledge that you can’t do anything about it only heightens the sensation, makes it worse, in my opinion.

The horrible thing was coming to the conclusion that I very well would have given myself to Max if he’d made any sort of move to get me in bed. Therein lay the terrifying truth about vampires, the thing that haunted my nightmares and why I had been so very afraid of Royce. If they wanted you— really wanted you—you had no control over your body and no choice about how you felt about what they were doing.

Once I got my breath and a semblance of strength back, I fought against the chains for a while. They didn’t give, and I was no closer to finding either freedom or relief than I’d been in Max’s arms. Twisting my wrists didn’t loosen the cuffs, and there wasn’t enough room for me to slip a hand through.

It took a long, long time, but eventually the burning heat between my legs faded, and I was left with a fresh surge of terror as good sense returned.

Good God. To consider—even if only for a moment—sleeping with Max Carlyle ... !

Shame liberally dosed with the sick feeling of being trapped resulted in the unsteady but oh-so-familiar sensation of bile churning in my stomach. Crying hadn’t done me any good so far but, to be perfectly honest, it was all I was capable of doing once the hopelessness of my situation sank in.

Not to mention the loathing and disgust I felt for myself, for my weakness, for feeling even the smallest margin of desire even when I knew I couldn’t help myself. It wasn’t my fault. I knew it wasn’t.

That didn’t make me feel any less sick and violated.

Max was right about one thing: more than pain, holding the threat of biting me over my head if I should step out of line would keep me in a cooperative mind-set. I’d continue to hunt for means of escape, of course, but I couldn’t handle the thought of putting myself in a position to be so vulnerable with him again. For the time being, when he was watching, I’d play along with whatever twisted plans he had.

The rest of the time, I’d be clawing at the walls hunting for a way out.

Coming to that conclusion was great and all, but it didn’t get me out of the chains. There was no clock or view of the outside to give me any hint as to the passing of the time. Hunger and a growing pressure to use the commode brought around a new kind of panic. What if he forgot about me? How long was I going to be stuck in these chains?

I was practically dancing in place with the effort to hold my bladder by the time Max sent someone to release me. The guy ignored my pleas and repeated requests to be shown to a bathroom. Instead, he held my arm tight enough to hurt and marched me back to the room I’d been locked in earlier—sans chair this time.

He shoved me inside and slammed the door shut behind me, leaving me alone. Though it was humiliating, I rushed straight to the chamber pot in the corner and made use of it, praying that neither Max nor any of his henchmen would barge in at an awkward moment.

When I was done, I noted that there was a tray set to one side of the door that held a bottle of water, some pills, and a bowl of thick soup—but no utensils. Despite feeling ill at being confined and the possibility the food might have something unsavory in it, I was ravenous, and rapidly devoured it. It was bland but filling, lacking any taint of poison or drugs that I could detect. The water was sealed so I knew it hadn’t been tampered with, but I wasn’t about to touch the pills, whatever they were.

After a few minutes spent fruitlessly scouring the carpet in search of the staples I’d dropped, I resigned myself to waiting for Max or one of his people to return. With nothing else to do, I settled down on the bed, lying back to stare at the ceiling.

Did Royce know Max had taken me? Before I woke up in this nuthouse, I was in California, hiding from the police and the werewolves in New York who were out for my blood. The master vampire of Los Angeles, Clyde Seabreeze, had been betrayed by his lover Fabian. It turned out Fabian was using Clyde, working with the necromancer whose zombies had been killing the vampires who looked to Clyde for protection. After conquering and assuming control of Clyde’s empire, Fabian’s first gift to his sire, Max, was—you guessed it—me.