Page 26 of From Russia With Blood

There’s no way her friend didn’t hear that one, but hopefully Markus has her somewhere deep in the bowels of the ship. He knew I would pay a visit to Katrina, and if he’s still with Lizzy in her room, she should be unconscious. Agony wracks my body as I pull away from her heaving chest. This meal will have to last me. I don’t think I can trust myself not to drain her next time.

With my cock still deep inside her, I pierce my index finger until just a drop or two of blood wells to the surface. I smear it over her skin, watching as the marks fade to light spots that will disappear by morning. Prickling awareness washes over my body as I stare out into the dark nothingness. Sunrise will be here before I want it, and I need to be below decks.

Katrina is passed out underneath me, either from the fear, pain, or combination of both. I glide my thumb over her open lips before easing the gag ring out. With great reluctance, I pull out, staring at the pink mixture of our fluids with the remaining blood and smirk. No other man can ever claim to have possessed her like this.

Walking over to my phone, I dial for one of my cleaning humans before heading into the bathroom and running some water. Steam rises from the tub as it fills up, and I return into the bedroom to scoop Katrina up into my arms. She is so light, so fragile. As I bring her into the brightly lit bathroom, I marvel at the shadows under her eyes, so stark against her pale skin.

I stopped before I took too much, but even so, she’s weaker now, more vulnerable. Holding her close, I step into the water, noting her quiet hiss as we sink into the relaxing heat. Soaking never really held an appeal to me, but humans seem to enjoy it. Katrina’s given me so much, so the least I can do is give her this. Quiet shuffling alerts me that the other human is cleaning, and I smile against Katrina’s head. She’ll never know what happened tonight, but she’ll always wonder.

Anytime she looks at me, her core will twinge with an unfettered need, and she’ll not understand why, but her body will know. I’ve imprinted myself so deeply into her. I’ve marked her inside and out as mine. I’ll allow her to play with Jackson, but at the end of the day, it’s at my pleasure, my permission, not theirs.

Soft snores reach my ears, and I smooth Katrina’s hair from her face. I’ll need to get her cleaned up soon. The room is deathly quiet, which means everything is ready for her to go back into her bed. Leaning her forward, I grab some shampoo and work it through her hair, her soft moans going straight to my cock.

By the time I’m ready to rinse, I’m rock solid against her back, but I don’t have time to indulge. Perhaps I’ll slake my lusts on Molodoy when she gets back from torturing Jackson? As nice as a thought that is, I know deep down it’s not going to happen. No other woman will do it for me now that I’ve sampled my precious little Katrina.

Her head lolls on her neck as I bring it back to rest on my chest. Taking a soft cloth, I dunk it into the warm water and scrape it along the fluids encrusted on her face. Her tender skin pinkens at my ministrations, and already I want her again. This obsession can’t be good.

I’ve never craved a human as much as I do this one. Fucking feelings. They’re not supposed to be catching. I thought it was a human-only affliction, but it seems like I’m wrong yet again. Katrina keeps surprising me at every turn, and I both love and loathe it. I like order, precision. I don’t like wild cards.

Rinsing her thoroughly, I bring us both out of the tub so it can drain. With one arm, I hoist her up to my side so I can rinse away the evidence of our fucking before laying her back down in the empty tub. Utilizing my preternatural speed, I buff down my body, drying off in record time. I pull her back into my arms again and dry her off before carrying her back to bed.

I lay her down in the fresh sheets and pull the covers up to her chin, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on her lips. She squirms under my affection, and I can’t help the smile that curls up my lips. How many does that make? Ten? Twenty? A hundred?

I’ll have to make sure I play my cards close to my chest when I get home. I can’t have any other vampires realize how precious this human is to me. Giving her one last glance, I head out of her room, ensuring it locks behind me. By my calculations, I’ll have just enough time to get back to my room and check in with Molodoy before settling in for the day.

Chapter 9

Katrina

A relentless throbbing pounds in my head. I turn this way and that in a feeble attempt to get comfortable, but nothing works. Even raising my hands to move my pillow feels like too much work. I want to go back to sleep, to shut everything out, but I don’t want to chance the dreams that have been plaguing me since Jackson put me to bed.

As I force my eyes open, I’m assaulted by shafts of light pouring in from too many windows until the entire room is bathed in the hellish glow. I’m not a morning person. Not now, not ever, but even with my intense dislike of the daytime, I’ve never felt so personally affronted by the blinding light.

Groaning, I toss my hand over my eyes and pray for oblivion to suck me back under. Even dreams can’t be worse than this. Reaching my free hand between my thighs, I slide my fingers across my swollen lips. No sign of any damage. Then again, would I even feel the evidence of what Luka did to me?

I could always grab a mirror and squat over it, but that feels like far too much work right now. Instead, I travel up to my breast and feel around for the puncture marks that should surely be there. Nothing. My skin is smooth and unblemished. A shaky sigh leaves my lips as I settle back into the comforting bed. A dream. That’s all. A very vivid dream.

No doubt the roughness from Jackson translated into the mother of all wet dreams, but that’s okay. In the dream world, anything is permissible, even the attacks Luka committed on my person. My eyes roll back into my skull as I dredge my memories for every detail, replaying them in my mind, analyzing them. Rape fantasies are not something I’d normally explore, so the fact that I had a dream of such intensity with that as the subject is something I’ll have to think about when I’m more awake.

What’s more disturbing is the fact that it involved Luka. I’d only met him once, and now I’m dreaming about him? Why not Jackson? Because Jackson still held back. You know it; I know it. Luka demanded I take everything he gave me. I was not an equal partner in that equation. With Jackson, even when he did let go a little bit, there was still a part that I’m sure would have stopped if I asked. Luka didn’t give a fuck, and apparently, I like being stripped of my control far more than I realized.

Rolling over to my side, my thighs slide across each other, damp from my arousal. Even replaying things in my head is getting me wetter than I have before. I should be ashamed, and if this really happened to me, I would probably be mortified, but as a dream, there’s no reason I can’t revel in the sordid details. Besides, as much as my body craves the I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude of Luka, deep down, I know I want the stable dependability of Jackson.

If I’m being honest, that’s probably why I had the dream. I’m fucking the safe option, so why not dream of the cold, feral ravishing my heart truly craves? The way Luka took me was like something out of a dark romance novel, and everyone knows what’s good in fiction is horrible in real life. No doubt, when he’s not dressed up as a vampire, he’s something boring like an accountant. Do I really want to explore a relationship with a pencil pusher?

I shake my head, instant regret flooding my system. The headache is back and even worse than earlier. If not for the insistence of my bladder, I would happily force the sun out and cocoon myself away from the world. Groaning, I set my feet to the side of the bed and stand, every muscle screaming at me from the effort. I’m just so tired, like bone-deep tired. It’s the type of tiredness you get when you study for finals and realize you haven’t slept for days only to collapse after the big exam.

The room spins, and nausea rises up my throat as I plop back down on the bed. This isn’t right. Deep in my gut, I know something is wrong. Is it possible I’d been drugged? Looking out the window, I watch the water trail behind us, huge wakes disturbing the murky surface. Chunks of ice float by like silent bombs just waiting to attack and sink us. What’s more likely is I’m feeling a delayed sense of seasickness. That would make far more sense than being drugged and pleasured beyond all reason.

Besides, only I can enter this room. No one else has my band. My finger fiddles with the silicone around my wrist, the only thing keeping me from losing it completely. I continue to stare out the window, the bile coming back up, threatening to make me sick. Exactly. A loud knock startles me out of my thoughts, and I swallow a scream. No doubt it’s Lizzy and not some killer iceberg looking to make me its next victim.

Wrapping up in my comforter, I force myself back up, taking slow, unsteady steps towards the door. I clutch the fabric around me, careful to not let it split open and reveal my nakedness. It’s not Lizzy, but some other woman in a smart, white and blue outfit. No doubt she works on the ship. Again, that tendril of fear creeps into my heart, frosting me from the inside out. Perhaps something is wrong with the ship, or maybe even Lizzy.

My hand creeps up to encircle my throat, setting my body on fire with memories of a far different hand choking me and caressing me. Forcing those thoughts away, I blink up at the stranger. An odd frown mars her face as she studies me with the same heated intensity as I do her. “May I help you?”

“Mr. Jackson wanted me to check on you. He said you were not accustomed to cruise ships and wanted me to make sure you were okay. By the looks of it, you’re not doing so hot. Are you sick, fatigued, achy at all?”

“Yes, yes, and yes.” My brain cheers as she rattles off the list of every symptom I’m feeling. I was right. It is the cruise ship trying to kill me. With that realization comes a twinge of regret as I realize there was no way last night actually happened. I should be relieved, but deep down, I’m not.