Page 12 of From Russia With Blood

It’s the guy from earlier, the one talking with Lizzy’s Dom for the night. This man must like what he sees because soon, his lips curl up into a feral grin. I should be terrified of him, but the moment he smooths his cold hand along the column of my neck, I feel weightless. There’s no longer a care in the world.

My gut tells me this is bad, but my brain doesn’t care. It’s like a drug has been injected into my system. I’m not saying what I should, doing what I should. The world feels like molasses, and I’m struggling to work my way through.

As he looks down at me, everything goes silent. At first, I think it’s because of him, just like earlier, but as I look around, I notice everyone is still and quiet. Everything stops. It’s as if I’m in a stop-motion animation. I glance at all the people, their faces turned towards a side door. A deafening hush fills the room as everyone seems to hold their breath. Turning to where everyone is transfixed, I, too, begin to stare.

Pure decadence in the form of a woman steps into the space. Time stands still as I watch her make her way through the crowd, led by two men in head-to-toe latex with dog masks covering their faces, their bodies on all fours. They crawl in front of her, heavy chains connecting their collars to the woman that controls them.

Every move she makes exudes power. She is also clad in latex, but hers is decorated with a silicone bodice reminiscent of Renaissance scrollwork. The delicate filigree starts from her throat and winds its way under her breasts and down in between her legs. The latex is midnight black, making the blood-red bodice just pop.

My eyes roam her body, taking everything in. There’s so much to look at and not enough time. Every glance away, and she’s one step closer to me. Practically floating, she traverses the space as if she owns it. She makes her way to me, her human dogs forging a path in front of her.

Something in her calls to me, draws me to her like a moth to a flame. She’s close enough that I can touch her, but I refrain. That same draw, on the flipside, screams at me to leave, playing be damned, but I ignore the voice and edge closer.

I can’t resist looking upon her beauty. There’s been so much of that tonight, as if there’s a spell on this ship, and try as I might, I can’t break away. Her face is obscured by a latex veil, but her eyes are visible to me. They bore into me, as if demanding I acknowledge her. Nothing makes sense. I feel like my world is upside down, but it’s the way it’s supposed to be.

As quickly as she came, she’s gone. Life springs back into the ship as everyone starts up their play again. I blink against the lights as, one by one, they come back into focus. The man next to me smirks, revealing just a hint of fang. God. Another one. Irritation fills my gut as I force myself to step away from him. For a moment, the red of the room catches his eyes as he frowns at me, making him look every inch a demon set to devour me.

Stepping back, I take in a deep breath, instantly hating how his scent invades my nostrils. There’s something cold and sweet about his smell - like peppermints, only with a darker undertone. Not chocolate and not earthy either. I sway forward, dragging in another breath. It smells so familiar. Like snowfall at Christmas. Shaking my head, I force those stupid thoughts out of my brain. People can’t smell like Christmas.

I step back again, ignoring the frown as it turns down his lips. It’s supposed to be ferocious, I’m sure. I should feel terrified of him, but I don’t. Smirking, I point to his lips. “Why am I not surprised that you're a vampire? Couldn't think of anything original?”

The look of shock as it passes his face would be comical if I still wasn’t reeling from the nausea I experienced earlier. Whatever was happening to me seems to have passed, because I’m starting to feel more alert, more like myself. His brows draw forward as he stares me down, but I can’t bring myself to care anymore. I need to go check on Lizzy.

I turn to walk away when his hand snakes out and grabs my wrist. “What’s wrong with being a vampire?” There’s a bite of anger to his tone, as if I’ve somehow offended him.

Dumbfounded, I look him up and down, trying to figure out where to even start. “You’re not even wearing a costume. You literally slapped on some fangs, got a nice suit, and called it a day. I hate costumes, and even I managed to invest in something. What did you do except roll out of bed?”

He crosses his arms, his brows unfurling. A smirk plays at his lips as he stares at my nearly-bare chest. I want to cross my arms in front of me, but that would be childish. I’m a grown woman, fully capable of showing skin without feeling shame. Planting my hands on my hips, I roll my shoulders back and arch forward. If he’s going to look, I might as well give him a show.

His pupils widen as he gets closer. You hear about the signs of arousal. Everyone knows your eyes are supposed to dilate, and your cock stiffens, but I’ve never actually seen it happen. I’ve lived my whole life thinking it was a lie. Glancing down, I note that his cock is actually hard, tenting against his pressed slacks. He wants me. Bad. But do I want him?

Gnawing on my bottom lip, I glance around the space, looking for the guy from this morning, but he’s nowhere to be found. Here I have a flesh and blood man that clearly wants me; why am I pining for someone else?

“Luka,” he says, his name spilling from his lips. He’s got the same bite of Russian as the lady checking us in, but his is somehow rougher, more enticing. For a moment, I want to hear him bark orders at me in his mother tongue, just to hear the harsh words as they command me to obey him.

Fuck. Where did that even come from? I go from lusting after one guy to wanting someone completely opposite? The man from earlier felt safe, warm, inviting. Luka feels predatory, cold, demanding - scary. As much as he’s a draw for me, it’s the bad kind of fix. I know his type. He will for sure chew me up and spit me out.

I tug on my hand, trying to extricate myself from his grasp, but he holds firm, drawing little circles on my wrist with the pad of his thumb - the same wrist Mr. Hottie licked earlier. Before I can protest any further, he turns my hand in his and brings up his phone, scanning my band.

“You listed feelings under hard limits. What a coincidence, I lost my feelings decades ago.” The smirk is back, widening by increments until he flashes his fangs fully. It’s just the kick in the pants I need to get moving.

He feels just like those frat boys that think they can do anything they want just because they’re God’s gift to women. I don’t need any more men like that in my life. Two was enough. “Decades?” I joke, attempting to diffuse the tension brewing between us. “You don’t look past your twenties.”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret.” He leans in close, invading me again with his scent. My head swims as I inhale. Maybe it’s pheromones? I wouldn’t put it past someone like him to douse himself with anything he thinks would get the ladies. That feeling of sinking through time skitters along my skin as I watch him inch closer.

“Blood of my enemies. Best skin care regimen you’ll ever find.”

A bark of laughter escapes my throat, followed by a nervous giggle. I want to break away from him, but I can’t find it in me to leave. He hasn’t done anything wrong - yet. I don’t want to make him mad because something as silly as my gut tells me to leave. This ship is only so big. What if I make him angry and he decides to find me?

Chapter 5

Jackson

The air is still as I make my way to the elevator. No doubt everyone is already on the Party Deck, scening to their heart’s desire. I’m probably the only one who even bothered to unpack and settle in. Still, knowing I’m practically on a floating island with no other visitors in sight is a little disconcerting.

The cruise ship certainly lived up to its hype as a scary destination. Blood drips from the wall in the way of silicone and clings. I know they’re fake, but the need to touch it, to make sure, drives me forward until I can swipe the pad of my finger against the crusting fluid.

Fake. Just like everything else. A sharp pain pierces my skull as I stare at the blood until my vision becomes blurred. Flashes of light blind me as that fateful crime scene overlaps the prop. I shake my head, forcing myself to dispel the image.