Eye of Heaven (I) by Joanne Soper-Cook

Author:Joanne Soper-Cook [JoAnne Soper-Cook]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Prnm/Fntsy/Shftrs/Myth, Ménage/& More, Historical, Naughty/Kink/BDSM/glbt
ISBN: 9781615817344
Google: 04WLaiZH8tUC
Amazon: 1615817336
Goodreads: 10788851
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2011-03-18T07:00:00+00:00

HE WAS as good as his word, for he returned with a companion, a slender boy with curly auburn hair and large brown eyes. Very nice… “Rouen?”

“Dante….” He hastened to me, helped me to sit up. The infusion of his blood had healed me somewhat, but the flesh of my cheek and my blinded eye had not responded to his treatment. “This is Giovanni. I met him in the arcade.”

Ah. The very same arcade, no doubt, where he had met me on Christmas past. How appropriately circular, I thought. “Messer Giovanni,” I inclined my head. “Welcome to our home.”

He cast a wild look about him, eyes wide and strained. I saw his gaze linger on the shredded bedclothes, the burn marks, the smashed chests, and ruined paintings. “What place is this?”

“You forget your manners, Ser.” Rouen nudged him from behind. “Pray, greet Messer Dante properly.”

He laughed shortly, a guttural braying, not unlike an ass. I disliked him, then and there. He perused my damaged face with an air of one inspecting a particularly odiferous tub of shit. “He is a monster!”

A chill ran through me, and I was ashamed. “How much do you charge, boy?” I fumbled for my purse, sifted through it, clinking coins between my fingers. “I would prefer that we negotiate price as a matter of priority.”

He stared at me, horrified, turned angrily to Rouen. “You told me you would entertain me! You said nothing about being expected to service a monster!”

My eyes narrowed. Filthy little baggage. “I assure you, Ser, my cock is the same as yours. No scales, feathers, or fins.”

Rouen smothered a grin. “Shall we begin?”

I rose from the bed, a single smooth movement. Already my old grace was coming back; the infusion of Rouen’s blood had helped enormously. “A florin?” I asked. “Is that sufficient to your purpose?” I caressed his cheek with my fingers. “You are a handsome, young bravo, now aren’t you?” My hand crept around the back of his neck as I pressed the coin into his palm.

I took a deep breath, and everything slowed. Anticipation crept along my skin: already I could taste him, the seductive bouquet of a mouthful of fresh blood.

My hand tightened on his neck with a grip like iron. There was no hope of escape for him now. “Allow me this pleasure….” A slow heaviness throbbed, deep in my belly, as my fangs descended. Oh yes, now the dance begins….

I cradled his head between my palms and brought him to my mouth, kicking helplessly, all his senses engaged in his hopeless struggle. My mouth watered at the smell of him—the tangy aroma of sweat that clung to his shirt and cloak, the dusty fragrance of his skin, the delicious stink of him.

Love me, yes you do….

The vein burst underneath my teeth, popping like the skin of an overripe grape. His blood spurted, washing against the back of my throat, sliding down to warm the inside of my belly, and I groaned. Pleasure pounded in my temples, streaked across my closed eyelids: Oh so good, so good….

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