Blood Ties Bundle: Blood Ties Book One: The Turning / Blood Ties Book Two: Possession / Blood Ties Book Three: Ashes to Ashes / Blood Ties Book Four: All Souls' Night. Jennifer Armintrout
of blood. Now I thought nothing of it.
“You taste as good as I remember,” he murmured against my cheek. His hand skimmed farther down my thigh, and he made another cut, this one deeper.
My body burned as he slid down to lap at the new wound. His hair brushed against my aching sex, a cruel tease.
This wasn’t what I had expected. I’d never really enjoyed sex much before. It was a thing that naturally happened in a relationship, but I’d never felt I needed it. Not like this, feeling as though I’d die if he left me right now, or at least cling to his legs whimpering and begging for more. He set out to seduce, to savor each moment, and I found myself enjoying the sensation of his icy lips on my skin. His wicked fingers stroking my legs. His hard body against mine.
He made a cut in the sensitive seam where my leg met my body, and “accidentally” bumped his cheek against my mound when he moved to suck away the blood. My legs twitched and tightened around his head.
“Could it be you’re actually enjoying yourself?” he asked in mock surprise.
I closed my eyes, unwilling to see his satisfied expression when I spoke. “Yes.”
He nipped at my chin. “Tell me you want me.”
Closing my eyes, I breathed, “I want you.”
“Not the sex, Carrie. Tell me you want me.” His words snapped my eyes open. His face was filled with pure, undisguised longing. He wasn’t asking if I desired him. He was asking me to love him.
He needed me to say yes. His desperate fear of rejection saddened me. But the piece of me that was still unaffected by the blood tie held me back. It was the piece of me that hadn’t been touched by anyone. I wasn’t about to surrender it. “I’m sorry, Cyrus.”
I thought he’d push me away, put an end to the encounter. Instead, he became more focused, kissing me harder and with more passion than he’d ever shown me before. His hands seemed to be everywhere at once, threatening pain with his razor-sharp nails and pleasure with his gentle touch.
He traced a path down my body with his tongue, until he reached the hot, slick entrance he sought. Parting me with his thumbs, he blew a gentle stream of frosty breath across my quivering flesh. I tried to lift my hips against his mouth, but he pushed me down on the bed. Before I could protest, he was on top of me, pressing the rigid length of his cock against me. He yanked my head back with my hair. “Tell me you love me.”
I was speechless. I feared the actions that would be wrought by the fury etched on his face.
“Lost your voice?” He reached between our bodies and roughly shoved two fingers inside me. I shrieked in pain as his sharp talons plowed through my sensitive flesh, but he covered my mouth with his other hand. “Well, you can scream easily enough.”
As suddenly as his touch had turned violent, he became gentle. His fingers, still buried deep within me, no longer tore at me. They stroked, as if seeking to repair the damage done. The fleshy pads of his fingertips massaged and delved, swirling over the hypersensitive spot that had eluded all the other men I’d been with. I bit down on the hand that still covered my mouth to keep from moaning.
I should have fought him, should have defended myself. But I couldn’t. His excitement fed mine. He pulled his hand from my mouth to hear my sobs of pleasure.
He withdrew his fingers. I saw my blood on them, mixed with the wetness of my arousal. Cyrus brought his fingers to his lips and sucked them clean, holding my gaze as he did so.
Tell him to stop, my rational mind cried out as the prison of my body panted, waited, begged to come with words I’d never imagined saying. When Cyrus ruthlessly thrust into my torn flesh, I screamed in grateful agony.
His face was a study in blasphemous rapture as he flexed his hips, driving himself deeper. Cyrus was hard and cold inside me, like glass, and was nearly too much for my overloaded nerve endings.
“Bite,” he gasped, leaning his neck close to my mouth.
I shook my head, trying to regain some of the control I’d lost. He slapped me across the face, and I flinched. “Do it!”
I opened my mouth, trying desperately to summon my transformation, but it wouldn’t come. He growled in frustration, so to avoid another blow, I bit down hard on his neck with blunt, human teeth.
He yelped in surprise, and no wonder. I felt the force of the pain in my own throat, and it wasn’t pleasant. A fresh surge of his lust seared my veins.
“Drink.”
As the first drops fell to my lips, I came. My body shuddered and my legs twisted around his back. My mouth froze open in breathless pleasure while his blood dripped onto my tongue.
Then I was rushing forward, and though I fought it, my eyes opened and I was once again in Cyrus’s body, looking into his past.
The images were disjointed. They flickered like a broken projector, some frames repeated over and over again. One by one they slipped into place, and the hazy, dizzy feeling in my head lifted.
Cyrus sat at a long table in a candlelit dining room. The air was hot and sticky, and stale cigar smoke made his eyes water. He wasn’t seated at a place of prominence. Instead, he was grouped with a few wealthy-looking men and women.
Cyrus turned his head to gaze at the woman next to him, and just beyond her there was a man in a military uniform that was definitely not American.
A deep, accented voice cut through the chatter. “Ladies and gentlemen, before our guests of honor arrive, I’d like to thank you all for coming.”
Cyrus turned his head toward the voice. A tall, thin man stood at the head of the table. His white hair was braided into plaits so long they nearly touched the floor in front of him. Though he appeared much more frail and withered than when I’d first seen him, the straight nose and cruel eyes were unmistakable. It was Cyrus’s father.
The Soul Eater.
When the older vampire’s gaze fell on his son, something that resembled love warmed his eyes. It passed all too soon, replaced by the calculating, predatory glare he gave everyone assembled.
“I also wish to remind you all of the rules. Only one of our guests tonight is the main course.” He chuckled at his joke, and the other vampires in the room laughed politely. “The other is for me. You’ll be able to tell, as they are clearly marked.”
Cyrus’s attention turned to the large double doors at the end of the dining hall. Two servants pulled them open. Framed in the cavernous wooden doorway stood Nathan and the woman I’d seen in the photograph from his closet. Nathan looked nearly the same as he did now, with the exception of his hair, which was shorter, and the healthy golden tone of his skin.
The woman at his side had lost all the youthful good looks I’d seen in the picture. Her cheeks were gaunt and dark circles ringed her eyes. She leaned on Nathan’s arm for support.
Cyrus focused on the pendant she wore. It was a golden dragon coiled around an extraordinarily large diamond.
The doors slammed shut behind them and there was an ominous clang as a large bolt slid into place.
“Bon appétit,” the old vampire said wickedly.
The faces of those seated at the table transformed. Their change was reflected in the horror on Nathan’s face and the weak acceptance on the woman’s. He stepped in front of her, as if to shield her, but the party guests descended on them, pulling them to the floor.
Cyrus stayed in his seat, and jumped when his father’s hand touched his shoulder. “One day, we’ll be finished with all of this,” the Soul Eater hissed in his ear.
“Yes, Father,” Cyrus replied, his throat dry. “One day, we’ll rule.”
Then he moved toward Nathan.
I wanted to manifest into some form I could control, so I could lash out at