8
NIALL had no idea why he’d said it. Maybe because she was getting more nervous. Her body was responding, but he expected she had no frame of reference for responding to a servant the way she would a vampire. The lass was all about structure. However, typical for a woman, an unexpected bit of knowledge brought her attention back to him.
“Your wife . . . she came with you?”
“No. Here, scoot this way.” He put her in the chair next to him, needing the space for a couple of reasons now. She looked a little disappointed, and he hoped to make that up to her. For now, though, he finished up his breakfast. He liked how she waited on him to gather his thoughts, realizing he needed that pause. Evan was silent as a corpse, suggesting he was dead asleep. Given the sun was well up in a bright blue sky and he’d stayed up longer than he should have done, that was pretty likely.
Leaving the wife question alone, he backtracked. “When Evan and I met, he was just over a hundred. He told me having no servant was like a human not being married at a certain age. Everyone starts tae wonder what’s wrong with ye.”
Female vampires get a little more latitude, because they’re expected to be choosy. Most males are itching to take one by the time they’re fifty, to have the feeding trough close. We tend to be lazy in food and sex. Plus, we go through full servants more quickly in our first century or so. Random fights and typical young man deviltry.
“I thanked him for his honesty,” Niall said dryly. Alanna gave him a polite smile, but he couldn’t tell if she saw the humor in it. “At first he wanted a scout in Scotland, to help him on his scavenger hunts for subject matter. But he was also looking for a lad with hunting and tracking ability, one who could pick up the lay of new terrain swift-like and serve the same purpose in unfamiliar lands.”
He shrugged. “I’ve no doubt there were others, better fed, more educated, who could have done for him, but that’s the why he gave me. He also said if he was going to have a servant about, he preferred the straightforward company o’ a male. At least at that time,” he added quickly, not wanting her to think Evan didn’t welcome having her here. As for Niall’s thoughts on the matter, her soft arse and her biscuits made her well worth the company. He wondered if she had any more of the latter stored in the oven.
“And your wife?” She asked it softly, obviously understanding it might be a tender subject. Since he hadn’t guarded his tongue as he should, he’d pay the fair price for it. That was the danger of women. They opened up things, dug into them.
“I didnae know I was one of Evan’s subjects, weeks before he met me, but I had a prickly feeling on the back o’ my neck during that time. When I told him about it, the feeling matched when he started following me about. A scout’s instinct, he called it, which confirmed his opinion of me.” That initial meeting flashed through his mind, the glen, the deep, cold creek, the touch of Evan’s hard hands, holding him pinned, but he pushed that away.
“A few weeks after we had our proper meeting, I was injured in a battle. It was a mortal wound. Evan carried me from the field, told me what the whole servant thing was about, which of course meant he had to let me know what he was. Said he could try it to save me, but he wasnae going to expend the effort if I wasn’t interested, if I believed he was condemning me to eternal damnation.”
Though Niall was as devout as the next man, that issue hadn’t figured into it. All he could think was Ceana and the two bairns would be left without him. The village was already near starving. Though others would do what they could for them, it wouldn’t be enough. They’d be turned out of the croft, unable to pay the rent. He’d already seen children starve to death in his short life, and he would sell his soul to the Devil to keep it from happening to his own.
“So we struck a bargain. If he could save my life, I’d serve him when my wife passed and the wee ones were grown up and able to care for themselves.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” she murmured, the truth of it reflected by the wonder in her expression. “A servant doesn’t age once they reach their thirties. How did you explain that to your family?”
“It wasnae an issue,” he said shortly.
As he’d already noted, she had a fair intuition. Reaching out, she touched his hand. “I’m sorry.”
Straightforward sympathy, no pity in her gaze. It is what it is. The vampire servant’s creed. At least he understood that much about her. But something about that touch made him keep talking, like a fool.
“Starvation took a lot o’ our young and old, but sickness had its way with those in-between. She was a braw lass, but she couldnae hold against it. My daughter went with her but it spared my son, Eric.” He pushed his chair back. “My brother and his wife . . . they had no children. They helped me raise Eric, and when I saw him handfasted to a lovely lass, I turned over the croft and all that went with it to him. Things were getting summat better, and he had some job prospects in Jamaica with a sugar planter, so I knew he’d be fine. I told him my grief for his ma was giving me the yen tae travel, to seek my life elsewhere. His aunt and uncle were like another Da and Ma to him, so I knew he’d be all right. Back then, if your kin left Scotland, it was likely you wouldnae see him again, though I sent letters. Until there was no need to send them anymore.”
He rose abruptly. “It was a guid breakfast. I’m going to finish up the wood. Next visitors will appreciate it when the snow flies.”
Her fair brow creased, those bonny brown eyes seeing far too much of his heart. “I’m so sorry, Niall. I didn’t mean to raise difficult memories.”
“You’re a guid listener, lass. It makes a man say things better left unsaid. That’s not your fault,” he added at her stricken look. “Anyone who remembers me died a long time ago, and I made sure they didnae suffer from my absence while they lived. That’s all a man can do.” Giving her a nod, he left the cabin.
After the first hundred years, he’d stopped thinking about most of it. It wasn’t until recently, facing his own closing life span, that the ghosts had stirred. A man didn’t fester over these things like a woman did, and probably for this very reason. It left a dull ache in his belly, made the sun seem a little less bright, the crisp breeze more cutting than cooling. Picking up the axe, he twirled it, then brought it down with such strength, he cut a good three inches into the stump itself.
Take the time you need. I know you’ll honor your oath. You’ll feel it when it’s time to come find me.
Niall spent eight years with his family after making his oath to Evan. During that time, the vampire wasn’t wholly absent. He’d recognized his future servant needed to get to know him. Therefore, whenever he was within range of Niall’s mind, he would reach out. After his initial start at the unexpected intrusion, Niall found the vampire good company. He became accustomed to those surreal, long conversations in his head while working the field, seeking scarce game or thatching the roof.
When he was with Ceana or the children, he could sometimes feel Evan there, watching, but the vampire didn’t try to distract him then. Niall even felt an occasional sense of warmth, as if Evan was enjoying a family vicariously through him.
Evan told him about wonders Niall never thought he’d see, and offered him counsel about managing his relationship with the landlord. Thanks to the advice, Niall revealed to the man that he was a good tracker, and earned some extra coin taking the gentry out on their hunts.
Evan had packages delivered to Niall, books about the places where he was, the legends of Norway or history of China. Niall’s reading was rudimentary at best, but he enjoyed the pictures. Evan also sent money. At first, Niall had been reluctant to use it, but a look at the thin faces of his family, and those in worse shape in his village, and he’d gotten beyond that. Evan also chided him for it, reminding him about his oath of service, telling him he would end up earning every cent. Why shouldn’t he use the coin to make things better for as many of them as he could?
To his neighbors, Niall explained he had a distant relative sending him funds from the Colonies. Ceana met Evan on his in-person visits, but she never warmed to the vampire, as if sensing the things that bound Niall to him. Evan treated her with great courtesy and kindness and, except for the circumstances of their initial meeting, he never made another inappropriate move toward Niall during her life span.
It wasn’t all smooth, however. Once, Niall had felt Evan’s presence while he was making love to his wife. He could feel the male’s heated regard through his own eyes as he looked down on Ceana’s heavy breasts and the plump pleasure of her sex, the silky curls wet with her arousal and his seed. He pulled back so abruptly, Ceana blinked at him in confusion.
“I need to take a piss,” he explained. Ignoring the chamber pot, he stalked out into the frigid night in the altogether. You’re no more welcome to be ogling her than any other man. That’s my wife. My wife. She’s nae part of our agreement.
I never said she was. The voice was cool, but amused enough to put Niall’s teeth on edge. I wanted to see how you touch her, how you feel with her. What pleasures you . . . and how you pleasure her. It’s different than when you’re rutting on a male, isn’t it?
I’ve never done that, and ye damn well know it. Now bugger off. I’ll be up at dawn slopping pigs if you want to feel that.
She’s a lovely girl, Niall. You’re a lucky man.
He’d have thought it empty flattery, but by that time he knew vampires never wasted flattery on a human. Ceana looked like an average village girl with a nice figure, unless one noticed the softness of her dark hair, the generous mouth and kindly, thoughtful look to her brown eyes. In the weathered lines of her too-thin face he could see the physical appeal that more food and less difficult childbearing would have lent her.
But to him, Ceana was beautiful, and Evan had seen that through his eyes. At the time Niall hadn’t thought much about it, but within the first few decades of traveling in his footsteps, he realized the vampire saw beauty in full spectrum—not just where every one else saw it, but where it actually existed, the true layers of beauty below the surface.
The restraint that Evan demonstrated with Niall until Ceana’s passing hadn’t been the usual thing for vampires. Niall had quickly learned that in his service. It was one of many unusual traits the artist had that separated him from his own kind, but it had made a lasting impression on Niall. Coming back to the present, he thought again about Evan’s decision to shelter Alanna. She was beautiful as a sunrise, no question, but like Ceana, there was something far deeper to her. Her brown eyes had the same depth and poignant understanding he’d often seen in his wife’s eyes, limited as her world was.
But Alanna’s world was pretty limited as well, wasn’t it? Though Ceana had been bound by poverty, and Alanna by servitude, they both lived in a heavily restricted world. They’d also found a way to live in that box, and make the most of it. Ceana’s last words to him had proven it.
It’s been a fine life, husband. Your love and the wee ones . . . I couldnae have asked for more . . . except more time. And that’s God’s realm, not a woman’s.
Though God took her from him first, sometimes he wondered if his decision to bind himself to Evan had somehow been a catalyst for everything that followed after. Soon you’ll be free to go your own way, and I know you were meant for that. I’m glad to have had such a bonny man . . .
He’d wanted to die with her . . . but not enough. Her acceptance of her fate echoed Alanna’s. It roiled in his gut, goading a rage he’d long ago dispelled. He was glad that Sheila had died after her mother, so Ceana hadn’t had to bear that.
Ach. It is what it is. Looking up, Niall was surprised, but not displeased, to find Alanna perched on a log. She had her feet drawn up, hands linked over her knees, the skirt modestly folded over everything. He wished she was still wearing her jeans so he could see that pretty arse and the intriguing terrain between her thighs exposed by the position, but she was still a picture. She seemed quiet, not expectant. Just seeking another’s company, he supposed. Or being ready to serve him . . . as Evan had required. He pushed away how good she’d felt sitting on his lap. He wasn’t going to jump on the offer like an impulsive boy in short pants going after a jar of candy.
Figuring out how her mind worked was more important. She honestly didn’t know what to do with herself unless a vampire had a to-do list for her. Picking up a towel, he swiped it over his face and chest and came to her, sitting down on the ground next to the log, his shoulder brushing her foot. She’d brought him a glass of ice water and offered it now, her feet sliding to the ground and her calf pressing against his shoulder. When her gaze slid over his bare chest, it gave him a pleasant idea. With the way things were pricking at him, he didn’t mind giving her something for her to-do list. Or at least taking the lid off that candy jar.
He nodded to the glass. “Rub the ice on me, lass. Help cool me down.”
Aye, that was going to cool him down for sure. A flicker in her eyes suggested she was wise to the irony herself, but she slipped her well-manicured nails into the glass and pulled out one of the cubes. Her cheeks pinkened in a fetching way under his close regard, her lashes fanning her cheeks. Sliding off the log, she folded her legs beneath her so she could lean over him. As she placed the ice against the base of his throat, her attention flitted to his face to make sure it was all right, before she made the ice glide down his sternum. He stayed on his elbows, watching the way she pressed her lips together, her eyes clinging to the movement of the ice. When she cut across his pectoral, following the dragon, then down to the nipple, he shuddered. She paused, but then kept at it, a few more turns there before she worked her way over his sectioned stomach muscles.
His skin was so warm, the ice began to melt almost immediately, so in addition to the cold pressure of the cube, drops of water trickled down his torso. He had a very pleasant vision of her lips making the same track, then lower. He already knew she was well-schooled in how to take a man’s cock in her mouth, sucking him to a state of repletion. Last night, it had been all Evan could do to pull free of her mouth and give over to Niall.
Christ, she wasn’t some whore. While the outside world might not see a distinction, he sure as hell did. Why had Evan opened this door? She didn’t have a will of her own, and Niall wasn’t a damn vampire who was going to assume she was his to use as he pleased, just because she called him Master. It did odd things to him, when she called Evan that, then flicked her gaze toward him, as if the two of them were an extension of each other. He wondered if she realized she did that. Evan obviously had.
She traced the male dragon, the vibrant colors of the scales. When she paused over the crest of the dragon’s head, centered over his heart, he wasn’t surprised she picked out the difference in texture between that area and the rest of the tattoo. If a person looked close, they could see the pattern, a symbol delineated in the design of the dragon’s scales.
“My third mark,” he said.
Every third-marked servant had one, a branded imprint on the skin. It appeared spontaneously after the mark was set, no control over its shape or meaning, except it always seemed to have some discernible significance, not just a random inkblot like a birthmark.
Her brow furrowed. “What is it?”
“The Hebrew symbol for chai. Life.”
“Oh.” He was glad when she changed direction. Intuitive lass. “Do you have a tattoo on your back?”
“Aye.” Shifting to his hip, he showed her the one there. She drew in a breath, not surprisingly. All of the work was striking, but that one always garnered the most attention. Done in black ink, the dragon covered most of his upper back, the wings angled so one curved over the beast’s head and followed the line of Niall’s shoulder, the other curved low so it followed his rib cage. He was a craggy-looking creature, horned and intimidating, but with the character and mystery of an ancient wizard in his steely-eyed expression.
Her fingers slipped over it, following the upper wing. When she reached the ridge of his shoulder, she was touching his hair, loose on his shoulders. She made a tiny stroke of it, a little tug as it caught between her fingers. When he shifted his gaze to her, she removed her hand.
“They must have taken a long time, especially with injections of Evan’s blood to hold the design. Was it painful?”
He gave her a short nod. Christ above, yes. He tapped the one on his chest.
“Evan did this one in front of an audience. I was performance art.”
It was far more than that, Alanna.
Niall bit back a deprecation. He should have known Evan wasn’t asleep as he should be.
I didn’t realize I had a bedtime. Do you want to come spank me, Niall?
If you’d fight fair, I’d break a two-by-four over your narrow ass.
Alanna’s eyes widened, telling Niall that Evan had let her hear that.
Keep rubbing the ice on him, Alanna. He’s still rather heated. Niall, tell her more about that day.
You’re the “Master” storyteller here.
He didn’t know why he was being petty about it. Hadn’t Alanna made it clear that wasn’t a luxury a servant had?
You are not the same as Alanna, neshama.
God, he hated how it made him feel, when Evan changed tracks like that. Niall caught Alanna’s wrist as she started to rub the ice on him again. “If he told ye to do something to me, and I refused, that’d be a pickle for ye, no?”
If Evan could reach him, he’d probably be physically hurled off the mountain. Maybe. What was goaded by irritation was tempered into curiosity for them both, as they watched her struggle with the question, Evan through Niall’s eyes.
“I can only serve my Master’s will to the full extent of my ability to do so. If you resist his will, and push me away, then I must see if his will is for me to force you to do his bidding.”
Niall gave her far slighter form a dubious look, but she shook her head. “My size is not the question. Just how far I am willing to go to do my Master’s will.”
How far are you willing to go to oppose it, neshama?
Evan hadn’t shared that one with Alanna, because her expression didn’t change. Niall answered that by answering her.
“As much as I’d enjoy a wrestling match,” he noted, gaze sweeping appreciatively over her, “we’ll call this a draw, lass. But I’ll ask Evan to tell the tale. I’m nae much of a storyteller, and he’ll include the bits you’ll like best. But be warned, he’s like looking for Walter Scott tae tell a true story about Scotland. Far more romance and legend than the sad reality.”
She touched the male dragon, her fingers resting on the third mark within the design. “This appears to be both,” she said quietly. “Legend and reality.”
He made a noncommittal sound at that, but lay back fully, lacing his fingers behind his head while she plucked another piece of ice out of his glass. As it made contact with his skin, sliding with sensual purpose over the tattoo, making the dragon’s scales gleam anew with the moisture, Niall tried to keep all his blood from draining into his cock. Given the story that Evan was about to tell, he didn’t hold out much hope for success.
Neither do I. Evan’s dry voice filled Niall’s head. Despite his disparaging analysis of my storytelling abilities, Alanna, I intend to tell it as it truly happened, and in great detail. Master Storyteller, indeed.
It was a private fund-raising event, a carnival for well-heeled individuals who preferred the pleasures of bondage and submission. The sizeable price to attend was donated to a domestic violence cause. Evan had offered his work for a silent auction, as well as agreed to do a special performance art demonstration at the request of the host.
Tiki torches and strung lights illuminated the grounds where the carnival was being held. There was no moon that night, but the sky was full of stars, given that the host, Tyler Winterman, held the carnival on his historic plantation property in the Florida marshlands off of the Gulf, far from any of the larger cities. Evan’s stage was an outdoor area set a little ways from the main carnival activities. The space had been cordoned off with black silk rope, but outside its boundary, chairs had been provided for those Masters and Mistresses who wished to watch. It was on the lawn, so there was enough soft grassy area for their slaves to kneel at their sides. At this event, the lines between Dominant and submissives were clearly drawn.
An elegant St. Andrew’s cross dominated the performance area. It was a piece of art itself, a dark polished wood, the ends carved with birds and decorative scrollwork, the flat surfaces below the restraint eyelets worn even smoother by the sweat and struggles of former occupants. Evan ran his fingers over the silk of those spots, felt the contrasting shapes of the carvings.
Glancing over at Niall, he was pleased with the way his servant looked. He wore only a dark gray kilt, and his hair was tied back loosely on his shoulders. Niall had never been tattooed, not during all these years. He was a blank canvas except for Evan’s third mark, the chai symbol on his chest that most in this crowd would take for a brand. They were not entirely wrong.
He remembered the night he’d lain in bed with his servant, his hand on that third mark, imagining the design he’d put over it. He was feeding, inhaling the scent of Niall’s skin as he teased his throat, sipping his rich blood. Niall had followed the movement of the fingers on his chest, figured out the shape.
A dragon, the symbol of the bloody English?
The Scot’s voice had been thick, trying for amusement, but laden with something else as Evan tasted him. Sliding his hand down Niall’s stomach, Evan clasped his cock, working it slow and steady, the way he was taking his nourishment. When he was done, he wanted him hard, because he’d roll him over and make him come into the sheets while Evan released inside him.
When Edward raised the dragon banner, it meant no quarter. No rules. Total domination.
And that’s what ye have over me?
He’d lifted his head, seen his servant’s tawny eyes studying him, his mind rolling that over. Evan’s answer had been to shift on top of him, hands on either side of his face, fingers digging into his hair as he captured his mouth. As he rubbed himself against Niall’s stiff cock, the Scot groaned, kissed him back fiercely. Evan planted his knee so he couldn’t roll them, pushing against his testicles as he plundered the heated mouth, the lashing tongue, biting the delectable mouth.
When he slid back down to press his lips over that spot, Niall’s hand brushed his back, moved up to his nape, fingers digging into his scalp as Evan scraped a fang over him. He was done feeding, but he didn’t turn him yet. He put his head on Niall’s chest, listening to his heart beat. As he was doing that, his servant’s mind stilled, as it often did in such moments. When he rested his large hand between Evan’s shoulder blades, those fingers curved against Evan’s flesh, a need unspoken.
Coming back to the present, Evan focused on the task at hand. He’d ordered Niall to remove his chest hair. He’d planned the design so it wouldn’t be affected negatively when the hair returned, but he liked the unique experience of seeing that broad expanse as a tanned, firm canvas. Beneath the kilt, Niall was just as bare and firm, but Evan wanted him even firmer. He indulged a vision of pushing his servant to his knees, raking up the kilt and taking him right here, before the curious early arrivals.
Niall was leaning against the cross in a seemingly casual pose, but now his head lifted, attention shifting to the vampire.
“Maybe afterward,” Evan murmured.
He was ready to begin. Even though there was a sign posted outside the silk cord, Artist at Work—please keep voices down to help with creative process, it wasn’t necessary. His head would soon enter that space where he would create, tuning everything out. The canvas would be everything. He’d stood in the middle of a plant factory, machinery so loud the employees wore ear protection, and gotten lost in photographing and sketching the workers’ faces, the mysteries they didn’t recognize in themselves as they became one with the machines. He’d turned that scene into a painting where the people were overlaid with a depiction of the creation of the world, the divine machinery that put it all into motion. It had been one of his more complex works.
This was not so complex, but it would be equally absorbing. He’d already developed it in his head, and knew eventually Niall would bear three dragons on his flesh. Evan could see each clear in his mind, how they would relate to one another on his servant’s skin. He wouldn’t do them all at the same time, but every detail of this first, fierce male predator must be perfect. A protector for his most important treasure, the man whose heart embodied the noble tragedy of the chaotic mortal world.
Niall remained still as he circled him and the cross. He was being uncharacteristically obedient, but he understood the environment enough to respond to it appropriately, even if it wasn’t his natural way. His lips tightened, though, as Evan knelt before him. Capturing his Scot’s gaze, he slid his hands under the kilt, up the powerful thighs, thumbs grazing the testicles as he wrapped long fingers around Niall’s hips, the curve of buttocks. The carnival was so saturated with sexual promise, it took no time for Niall to respond, his cock rising, held in place only by the heavy fabric of the utility kilt.
Evan easily read Niall’s desire to see his Master take his cock in his mouth. On the occasions Evan had done that, Niall was usually at his mercy, hands tied above his head or behind his back, body hard and straining toward Evan’s relentless mouth. But here, his hands were free, body held back only by Evan’s command. He could thread his fingers through Evan’s silken dark hair, tighten and pull, push him down harder, feel his clever mouth and tongue at his pace, all along his shaft.
Evan rose, meeting him near eye to eye. Provocative, neshama. Stay still. Fingering Niall’s belt, he unbuckled it. His servant obeyed, though his tension increased. Evan removed the kilt, folded and put it aside. Niall was barefoot, so now he was fully naked, on display for the admiring—and growing—crowd. Evan didn’t blame them for looking. Niall’s muscles were developed through his hunting and scouting skills, his combat training and their active physical life. The fighting skills were necessary, but in watching Niall train, Evan often reminded him those skills were to be employed against servants or other humans with nefarious intents; not for Niall to step between him and another vampire.
Niall gave him a gimlet eye now, since Evan was letting him see the drift of thoughts in his mind. The day might come when I save your arse.
Lord Uthe’s letter of patronage is sufficient to handle the vampires.
Aye. Vampires are a civilized lot. All of ’em offer you tea while their lawyers look that over. Nae a single one of them has tried to rip you to shreds for being in a territory, unmarked by the overlord. Oh, wait. A couple o’ them have, aye?
Evan gave him a level look. Sliding his hand onto Niall’s broad shoulder, he tangled his fingers in the man’s loose hair. “Get on the cross.”
Niall angled his chin, brushing Evan’s knuckles and freeing his hair in a slow movement, the men’s gazes staying locked. Then he inclined his head. Moving to the cross, he aligned his arms with the upper ties, spreading his legs to accommodate the lower part. The way he looked on it made Evan wish he had the ability to carry such a thing on all his travels. Now he crisscrossed the straps provided over ankle, calf and thigh, then biceps, forearms, wrists. As he cinched them, he noted his servant’s cockstand became more pronounced and thick. When he was done binding him, he stroked it with a curled fist, squeezing the heavy balls. Niall’s pulse leaped, the broad chest expanding. Turning his attention to the crowd, Evan saw admiring glances, even from the pretty slaves ordered to keep their gazes down. He didn’t blame them for the transgression.
He raised his voice so he could be heard by the audience. “I need a female slave to keep my servant occupied while I prepare. Any volunteers?”
The redhead in the blue see-through frock has a mouthwatering rack.
Stop trying to direct, or I’ll pick the biggest, ugliest male brute out there to work you like a steam engine.
Bugger off. It’d be a shame to break this cross. You couldnae afford to pay Tyler for it.
Evan pressed his lips against a smile. Ironically, the dark-haired Hispanic Master of the redhead with superior heavy breasts and lush hips had stood up, bringing her with him. “My slave, Leila, is at your service. I am Joseph.”
Evan could already smell her arousal. The overload of sensual stimulation in this environment had her dripping wet. Niall, with his heightened third-mark senses, would be driven crazy by the scent. Perfect. It would help him manage the pain. “My thanks. I want her to work him in her mouth during my preparations. But I don’t want him to come. Just get him so close to it he’s hurting for it. I want to hear him beg.”
Not in this lifetime.
Evan noted Niall’s hands curling into clenched fists inside the restraints, and wondered if he was even aware of it. Probably not.
“As beautiful as your slave is, I doubt mine’s self-control. Put this on him first.” Opening the container beneath the table holding his tattoo supplies, he lifted out a heavy cock ring, one he knew was a tight fit on Niall, a torture and provocation at once. At Joseph’s nod, Evan handed it to Leila.
“Go do as the Master instructed,” her Dom told her. “Don’t let him come.”
“Yes, sir.” As she moved toward Niall, the Scott fastened a glittering gaze on Evan. To lubricate the ring, Leila placed it in her mouth. Finding Niall already too tumescent for that to work, Leila proved herself a quick thinker. Kneeling where Niall could see her, she spread her knees, and the ring disappeared between her legs, along with a couple of her fingers. When she removed it, dripping with her body’s natural lubricant, Niall’s gaze was now pinned on her.
This time, she was able to get it to the base of his cock, though she had to work it over him carefully. Niall said something to her that made her cheeks flush, her lips part before she settled herself on her knees. Placing her short but well-manicured nails on his thighs to balance herself, she put her moist lips on the broad head of his cock and slid down the shaft, taking him almost to that ring. When she slid back up, her throat worked in a most engaging manner.
Evan closed his eyes, enjoying the first shudder through Niall’s mind as much as the outward reaction of his body. “Would you lend me your assistance, Joseph?” At his nod, he handed the Dom a blindfold. “He’s never docile, but he’s more intriguing when he can’t see.”
Niall didn’t fight him, but did shoot Evan a look that indicated it wouldn’t have been his first choice. Then he was blind, Joseph lacing the sides snug so the blindfold molded to Niall’s face, the bridge of his nose.
I want you in your head, neshama. Feeling everything. Her mouth on your cock, my hands on you, the needle as I stitch the paint and my blood into you . . . the invisible eyes of your many admirers.
Niall stayed quiet, likely sensing Evan getting into his own head as well. The Scot was intuitive that way. Pulling up a stool, Evan adjusted his table of inking tools, the variety of colors, the tiny cups to clean the needle and dip into new colors. He also had a scalpel and ceramic bowl handy, the most important elements for what he was about to do.
When he’d first told Niall he was going to do this, the Scot had said little about it, but since then it had drifted through his head with the constancy of clouds in the sky. The fact that he didn’t think too deeply on it told Evan it intrigued him more than he was willing to admit.
Niall bore his third mark, the significance of the chai symbol not lost on either of them, given that Niall had come to him on the brink of death, but Evan wanted to enhance it with his art. Make Niall one of his canvases.
“Thank you, Leila. That’s enough.” His servant’s powerful thighs were trembling with the effort not to thrust into her mouth with the little movement permitted by his bonds. Evan could smell the semen that had oozed from the slit. The ring was cutting viciously into him, barely holding back the climax boiling in his balls. Leila had a very skilled mouth.
Now his servant was aroused, alert, fiercely agitated. Good. That was where he wanted him. Evan had no concerns about Niall tensing up over the process itself, which sometimes happened with first-time tattoo subjects and could degrade the design as a result. Niall had no fear of pain at Evan’s hands, could even get aroused from it, when applied correctly. But if Evan could get him into that floating state that Niall didn’t embrace as readily as a natural sub, the skin would accept the ink even better. He was on the threshold of that now, whether he realized it or not.
When Evan slid his fingers over Niall’s pectoral, where he would start the tattoo, the man quivered, his lips parting. “Only one focus. What I do to you here.” He gave him a single prick with the needle. Niall didn’t flinch, but his stomach muscles tightened like a drum. Evan could already see how he would edge out the dragon’s neck, using thicker lines for the turn of the head to give it a 3-D effect. He could use more whites and yellows for a highlighting effect, because the blood—and the fact that Niall didn’t spend most days in the full heat of the sun—would keep the fading to a minimum.
Evan picked up the scalpel next to the bowl, made a functional slice across his forearm. As the blood dripped into the bowl, Niall’s nostrils flared. The audience might be curious about the use of Evan’s blood, but the visceral and macabre easily blended with the primitive drives of Domination and submission.
Lifting a brush, Evan swished it through the blood, then applied a thin layer to Niall’s skin, over the first area where he’d be working. Then he took up the machine. “When the pain intensifies, listen to my mind, neshama. Find your center.”
He’d taught that inward focus to his servant early, a coping mechanism to handle a vampire’s more extreme demands, as well as to manage Niall’s personal demons. While a normal tattoo hurt, adding the blood to hold the design made it worse. Third marks had a high tolerance, but pain was pain. Being able to suffer in stillness didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt like hell.
Putting his hand on Niall’s shoulder to steady his stance, Evan eschewed the stool for now. He’d use it eventually, when he tattooed the dragon’s body along Niall’s upper abdomen, but he preferred to stand before his canvases when he could. It seemed more respectful to the muse—and the subject.
It took several hours to do all of it. He’d already sketched out the pattern, painted it, so he didn’t need to do a tracing. He had it locked in his mind, had inked it into Niall’s skin a hundred times. He knew every inch of his servant’s body as well as his own. Maybe better.
His servant had firm, healthy skin, thick and supple. Stretching it to allow the ink to flow into the skin smoothly and consistently was not difficult, but it still required concentration. Navigating the curves of bone and muscle, adapting when the layers of skin varied, adjusting the needle in the guide for deeper or more shallow lines. Pausing when his servant had to shift his body, because of the length of time it was taking. Though Evan could read that from Niall’s mind, he had known the Scot long enough to anticipate the movement, such that he would lift the needle even before the thought happened. Or utter a quiet admonishment, so Niall would hold still an extra few seconds until Evan was at a better stopping point.
Later, Tyler would tell him that most of the guests who came by to watch for a period of time ended up staying, absorbed by what they were seeing, the powerful energy humming between the two men, artist and subject. Master and servant. However, from the first prick, Evan was aware of nothing but his canvas. The rise and fall of Niall’s chest, the hitched breaths and quiver of muscle when things became too intense. The ribs were the worst, because the lack of adipose tissue made it particularly excruciating. Evan kept cool cloths handy, wiping the work area down frequently. Ink feathered during the tattoo process, so it was necessary to keep the area clear, but the side benefit was that it was soothing to the skin as well.
When he finished that section, Evan took a short break. Caressing his Scot’s broad rib cage, his bare hip, he rose to brush his lips over his shoulder, his throat, his mouth. Niall turned into the kiss, his lips for once almost docile under Evan’s, his mind caught in a deep well. His servant had stumbled into that area of his heart that embraced the possessive intimacy of what Evan was doing. It was the closest Niall came to subspace, a rare and precious gift that Evan savored. Niall didn’t often surrender, no matter the odds against him.
Taking a seat on the stool, he slid his knuckles along Niall’s inner thigh, grazing the testicles. “Time to keep going.”
Part of that subspace condition was a hyperalertness to every point of contact. Evan had stayed in Niall’s mind throughout, keeping track of his servant’s well-being, how he was holding up, so he also knew the man was aware of how Evan’s fingertips lay on his chest, pressing into his flesh, stretching it where needed. Or sometimes just resting, maintaining that contact as Niall was inked, a tactile reminder that he was restrained at Evan’s will as he became his art. That aroused his servant as much as anything else.
Evan took the emotional response and integrated it into his own, making it part of the work. The tattoo master who had trained him for over a decade had often used music to inspire the muse as he created on skin. Evan used the feedback from Niall’s heart, mind and soul to do the same now, following that orchestra to drive the fire in the dragon’s eyes, the defiant tilt of the head, the lifelike gleam of the scales as he mixed colors of gleaming golds and purples, blues and silver. They merged into one another like the glittering edges of an oil spill on pavement. The work was painstaking but all consuming, the tiny caps needing to be refilled often so the ink wouldn’t dry out.
If he had any doubt of Niall’s reaction to the additional claim Evan was putting on his flesh, the man’s aroused state spoke volumes. His cock was so turgid it brushed Evan’s elbow, his side. He’d stripped off his own shirt to enjoy the breeze, and feeling the damp tip of his servant’s organ sliding along his rib cage when he was leaning forward to ink him just added to the intensity of the experience. Once or twice he ran the heated side of the machine along the velvet shaft, making Niall flinch at the unexpected burn, the threat of the needle being used there. But then Evan set it aside and clasped the organ, sucking the moisture off the tip, giving him a firm lick that had Niall’s hands turning into fists again in his bonds, an oath whispering through his mind.
After Evan had completed the design around the sensitive nipple area, where the dragon’s precise claw overlapped the areola, he brought his bloodstained fingers to Niall’s lips. Niall sucked on them, taking the nourishment and what else was offered with them. Evan noted the skin was red around the nipple, but that would fade far more quickly than it would on an unmarked human.
It was done. Evan stared at the entire design for a few moments, but felt that click in his mind that told him there was nothing more needed. Tiny drops of blood beaded up on the dragon, the skin weeping. The bleed out was the necessary endstep to ensure the tattoo stayed sharp and clear. This was Niall’s blood. Evan’s had absorbed into the skin, helping the ink set, the unique scientific reaction between a third mark and his Master. He put a finger over a thicker drop and brought the small, tantalizing taste to his mouth. It had been hard work. He was hungry for his servant’s throat, but tonight he would feed Niall from his artery. His servant had earned the right to be nourished first, and a tattoo this complicated, integrated with a vampire’s blood, was akin to sustaining a wound. He would need the type of sustenance to rejuvenate only his Master could provide.
Evan stepped back, rolling his shoulders. He needed some distance from the blood or his fangs would start to lengthen. Picking up a bottle of water, he drank. It was cold. One of the wait staff must have changed it out.
Ye need to stay more alert. You’re the most unguarded vampire I know. His servant’s mindvoice was slurred, lethargic. Evan’s gut tightened, feeling a Master’s sweet satisfaction.
Think how easy it will be to stake me when you tire of my company.
Is that an option? I didnae get the memo.
Evan removed the blindfold. As he stroked his servant’s hair, Niall slowly opened his tawny eyes. The Scot might be aroused, every nerve ending alert to Evan’s demands upon his body, but emotionally he’d been spiraling on a different plane for some time. It was time to bring him back to earth.
Evan brought the bottle to Niall’s lips, cupping the back of his head. “Take a swallow, neshama.”
Niall did, throat working, and Evan touched it with lingering fingers. “You did beautifully.”
All servants learned that hazy place of patient endurance, where the body was malleable to almost anything. Niall had acquired it from diligent practice, not natural instinct, which made his threshold all the more amazing. Curving his fingers around his nape, Evan brought his lips to the man’s mouth for a heated kiss, playing with his tongue. When Niall groaned against the bite of that cock ring, Evan gave him a prick of his fangs. Niall let out a soft curse as blood bloomed on his gum. Blood Evan teased away with his tongue.
“I’m going to have a willing sub lubricate your fine ass,” Evan murmured against his mouth. “Then I’ll put your kilt back on you. When I finally release you from this cross, I’m going to put you down on the ground, push your kilt up to your waist like a girl’s skirt and take you hard and fast. You’ll spend yourself in the grass.”
You’re spoiling for a fight, then.
One you know I’ll win.
He would of course, but Niall would give the audience quite a show with his resistance, no matter how tired he was. After so many years, the Scot never stopped trying. It fascinated Evan.
That dragon gleaming on Niall’s abraded flesh would always be there because of Evan’s blood. He abandoned the banter, clasping Niall’s beautiful cock hard.
You’re mine, neshama. Every beautiful inch of you.
Through Niall’s eyes, Evan could see Alanna staring at that dragon as he finished the story. She’d been tracing it with more ice, but at some point, her hand had stilled. The two fingers holding the cube were stationary, but her other digits were doing curious little flutters around it. An involuntary tell, a burning desire to touch without the ice’s interference. Niall’s hand covered hers, brought it to his mouth. Taking the nearly melted ice cube into it, as well as her two cold fingers, he warmed them in the heat, pulling her over his chest so she was lying upon him. He cupped her head, fingers tangling in her hair, thumb passing over her mouth.
Her gaze darkened. Desire radiated from her. If she’d been wearing panties, they would have been soaked. As it was, her honey had made her inner thighs slippery. Her hard nipples pressed against Niall’s chest, but there was a dark gloom in the center of her mind, a place of uncertainty.
Evan held back the knowledge, not wanting to interrupt Niall’s forward progress. The Scot had excellent intuition. He didn’t kiss her . . . smart man. Instead he slid his other hand under her T-shirt in the back, released the clasp of the bra. She was still as a baby bird in his hands, staring at him, breath shallow.
He found her breast under the loosened undergarment, cupped the soft curve. As he let out a pleased sound, he investigated the weight and shape of her, his thumb passing over the nipple in a slow, easy stroke. Then a quick flick that made her jump, a tiny noise catching in her tight throat.
“Easy there, lass.” Sliding the hand back down her waist, he palmed her ass, and maneuvered her so her thighs were straddling one of his, her hip bone pressing into his cock. “Sit up and take the bra all the way off. Show me the way you look beneath the T-shirt without it.”
Good man. He’d commanded her. She complied, still moving in that trancelike way. Evan, lying in his bed beneath the earth, was tempted to order them to come below, but anticipating her reactions was worth denying himself. She was incredibly beautiful—Aphrodite-like in her perfection. The round set of her breasts, the nipples pushing against the cloth, made it impossible for them to be meant for anything other than a reverent yet demanding touch. Niall gave her that now, pushing them together, flicking both nipples through the cotton such that she arched toward him, her eyes closing. He brought her up his body, put his mouth on one over the shirt, dampening the cloth by suckling her. The noise of it, as well as the sensation itself, stimulated her more.
Yet that darkness was expanding. Evan saw the moment it took over and she switched gears. The part of her mind he most wanted engaged pulled away.
I am responding for Master’s pleasure. This is not for me, or for Niall.
Straightening to a full straddle, she removed the shirt, her hair sliding over her cream skin. She was well aware of her beauty, but not in the sense of owning it. It belonged to Evan, as it had belonged to Stephen before him. She was its caretaker, softening her skin with those fragrant lotions they’d both detected and enjoyed. Her hair was brushed often and well, treated with products to keep it to a lustrous shine. Everything about her said she was a polished gem, intended to be displayed as part of the wealth of a vampire Master.
She met Niall’s gaze before she swept her own down. “How may I please our Master with you, Niall?”
Niall caught both her hands. “Where did you go, lass?”
Her brow creased. “I don’t understand.”
“You were here, with me. And now you’ve taken your heart and soul away, only leaving your body.”
“If it is my Master’s wish for me to be more . . . emotionally engaged, then I will do so.”
“You’ll act like it, you mean.”
“No. My emotions are my Master’s to command. If he desires enthusiasm, or tears, or passion, then I provide that.”
Christ, Evan. She doesnae know the difference.
Evan considered the issue. Let her go, Niall. Tell her I have no further need of her today. Do not allow her to help you with anything. Let’s see what she does with that.
Niall’s reply to that was a continuation of last night’s what’s the point of all this disagreement. But Niall hadn’t liked where that argument had gone, and neither had Evan. So he was relieved when Niall suppressed it. Somewhat.
Fine.
Is that a woman’s “fine”? Meaning “not fine,” but you’ll do it, despite the fact that you think I’m wrong and you plan to brood about it? Or is it a man’s “fine”? Which, by the way, men don’t often use the word in either manner. It’s “okay,” “right,” or “piss on you.”
Piss on ye, then. That works.
Evan smiled tightly. Yes, it does. For now.