Page 32 of From Russia With Blood

Just like that, all feelings of comfort flee to be replaced with terror. I know they’re just props, but the fact that he’s led me into this room makes me feel like perhaps I’m never coming back out. Transfixed, I watch as the lid grinds across to allow red-tipped nails to slide out and curl around the polished onyx.

I lose all concept of time. All that crosses my awareness is Luka behind me, his hands skimming over my waist in an oddly soothing motion. I sway with him as if lulled into a place between waking and sleeping. Whispers skitter across my mind, demanding I give in and relax. My limbs are heavy, and I can barely keep my head up.

The lid comes off, and a gorgeous woman exits the coffin. Her hair is a brown mass of curls, her skin so pale it’s translucent. Her beauty is breathtaking. I try to inhale, but nothing happens. Waves cross my vision as Luka’s hand settles more firmly over my mouth.

“Ahh, Molodoy. So glad you can join us. Jackson is waiting for you. Don’t toy with him too long. I need him to be functional. Tonight, I will claim my prizes.” She gives a graceful bow of her head and floats towards the door. Whoever she is, she means Jackson harm.

I try to struggle, but nothing moves. All I hear is Luka whispering to me in Russian, his hands roving my body as if it’s his. Am I dreaming again? Blackness encroaches, blocking out the scene in front of me. Blissful unconsciousness creeps over me until I’m floating on air where nothing else can touch me.

Chapter 12

Luka

Stubborn girl. With my compulsion, she should have been out much quicker. As it is, I now need to hurry and set the stage. Ordering her to sleep once more, I lay her in the empty coffin and grab my bags. First stop is the captain.

With the playing in full swing, it takes me no time to reach him. All his men are weak-minded fools, wilting at my commands. The captain, however, is a tougher nut to crack. I don’t want to damage his mind, not yet, so I craft my words and instill into him the need to obey me. Soon, his eyes glaze over.

With my orders now embedded into his brain, I rouse the other deckhands and head back to the bottom of the ship. Racing about, I deposit my cargo at key points before heading back to my new toy. By now, Molodoy should have Jackson beyond frantic and about ready to tear the ship apart.

Pulling Katrina out of the coffin, I rip the rest of her shirt, exposing her neck to my gaze. I’ve been fighting her pull ever since I drank from her last night, and with her infusion, she should be ready for me again. My blood is more potent than any drug out there, and the effects on her body are profound.

Even now, the curative properties are at work, toning down the damage Jackson caused her. To think, once she’s turned, we can pull her apart and bury her until she’s back to new. Running my nose along the throbbing pulse of her neck, I bite down and draw her blood into me. Divine. It washes over my tongue, filling me with her laughter, tears, wants, and desires.

The door flings open, but I ignore it. Jackson is right on schedule. “I believe her band states that she has a kidnapping kink. Nowhere did I see a rescue kink on her list of desires. Kindly leave before you face the consequences.” I don’t compel him. Not yet. I want to see what he’ll do - how much he’ll sacrifice for her.

He stands there, frozen. Time to up the ante. Taking in another mouthful, I pull back to let some of it slide down, coating her neck in a sticky crimson. Jackson blanches as he watches the show I’m putting on just for him. I know his brain is going back to that fateful crime scene, and perhaps he sees this as the proof he’s always needed.

“You’re insane.” His voice is low, almost reverent.

Smirking against her skin, I swallow the rest of her blood, prick my tongue, and lave it across her wounds. “I find it so amusing how humans instantly attribute insanity to anything they don’t understand. Have you ever considered that you might be the insane one? How many people do you have wasting away in your asylums that are merely misunderstood geniuses and not, in fact, insane? Instead, it’s your treatment making them that way.”

“Fine,” he retorts, hand snaking down to his gun. “You’re a monster.”

I sigh, bringing Katrina back up to my mouth so I can lap at the trails of blood sliding down her pale skin and across her collarbone.

“I so do love studying American serial killers,” I continue as if I hadn’t heard him. He paces closer, gun at his fingertips. “But then, that’s another way you’re at a complete disadvantage. You lock your ‘monsters’ up. Kill them. I give them parameters, boundaries, a purpose. Making the monster go away doesn’t solve anything. All it does is create a void for a new one to come in.

“Most times, the void chooses someone even worse. I see evil for what it is - a tool, a weapon. The sooner you embrace that all men are created evil, the easier things will be for you. You may dress fancy, flaunt your ‘morals,’ but deep down, there’s a darkness in you. It’s in all of us, yearning to break free. I just happened to evolve past my human frailties and sensibilities. Best decision I ever made.”

Jackson takes another step towards me, and I flick my gaze over to Molodoy and Markus, where they lurk in the shadows before curling my lips into a semblance of a smile. They grab his arms, holding him immobile as he attempts to thrash about.

Catching his manic gaze in mine, I dip my head back down, swirling my tongue in the crimson ambrosia. With a flick of my wrist, I tear the rest of Katrina’s shirt down the front, letting her right breast break free.

Jackson’s eyes turn molten as he stares at the exposed flesh, the hunger shining through him like a homing beacon. There. That thread of depravity. After a few moments, he comes to himself, making a grand show with his feeble attempts to escape. Dinner and a show. Always my favorite combination.

Markus holds him in an implacable grip, fangs bared, but I motion for him to hold back. Markus is my underling, and as such, has no right to turn someone else. Besides, the whole point in taking Jackson is so I can bend him to my will, mold him into the monster I know he can be. Setting Katrina down on the floor, I walk over to Jackson, ignoring the profanities spewing from his lips.

Reaching up, I thread my fingers through his hair near the back of his skull before gripping tight. He attempts to break free, but I hold firm, not giving him an inch. Smirking, I lean forward, touching my lips to his, grinning as he squirms. Soon he’ll be giving me what I want without so much of a fuss, but his lashing out is to be expected.

His body protests as I skim my fingers down his chest and lower to cup his balls, my mouth swallowing the angry grunts and vitriol spewing from his lips. He must have had another dose of water to be so hard already. I know it has nothing to do with me. Not yet. But all that will change when I hold Katrina hostage. He’ll probably do anything to keep her from becoming evil like us. Pulling back, I laugh as Jackson spits on me as if that will do anything to deter me from taking what I want.

I grab a ball gag from a nearby table and pry Jackson’s lips open before stuffing the bright, red orb deep inside his mouth. Once I secure it behind his head, I resume my exploration of his body. With his mouth otherwise occupied, I don’t have to listen to his incessant protests as I undo his belt and pants and slide my hand inside to grip his hard cock.

Just because it’s the drugs doesn’t mean I don’t take perverse pleasure in gliding my fingers up and down the silken skin of his shaft. Soon, his eyes roll back into his head as his hips jut up to my touch. No doubt the mortification will be too much for his mind to remember, so I’ll just have to remind him after he’s turned.

He wanted this. He craved my touch, my grip on his cock. Smirking, I rip his pants the rest of the way down and kneel before his thick erection. It’s not every day I get on my knees for someone. Too bad it’s for a mortal like him. I figure it can be my parting gift before he sheds his humanity.

His body vibrates with fury as my lips close over his head, sucking Jackson deep inside. I’m not gentle with him. My fangs scrape the delicate skin, releasing more blood with each pass. Agonizing howls, muffled by the gag, reach my ears, and I look up, noting Molodoy’s look of discomfort. Perhaps she feels something for this blood bag.