Master of Madhouse by Cheryl R Cowtan

Author:Cheryl R Cowtan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Vampire, adult vampire romance, Gothic, Supernatural horror, Paranormal thriller, Dark urban fantasy, Gritty fantasy, Fantasy, horror, vampire lover, against her will, dark romance, dark victorian romance, occult, Supernatural romance
Publisher: Cheryl R Cowtan
Published: 2018-03-30T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19: The Nosferatu Seduction

Gräfen’s chin pushed forward from the shadows, cresting the flame’s orange glow. I leapt back, stepped on the hem of my nightgown and fell hard to the floor. Gräfen stood incredibly tall by the fire, his shadow bending, black-hole black, where the ceiling met the wall. Shuffling into the corner where the fireplace stone met the wall, I cringed in horror.

“You should not run from me, my dear.”

He moved past the fire with unhurried grace, his cloying presence casting ahead of his body.

“Leave me alone.”

“Oh, but I cannot,” Gräfen’s low voice held the tenor tones of the emotionally tortured.

He gracefully dropped to the floor, placing his hands on the boards beside my ankles, and began to crawl up my body.

“Your pulse elicits an uncommon rapture in my core,” he whispered as he advanced

“What?” I tried to shuffle back but the wall stopped me.

“Its reedy rhythm revives the melody of a lifecycle long past, and places it within this lifeless grotto.”

“Lifeless because you’re dead!” I accused.

“No, alive.” His hand came down on the outside of my hip. I blocked him with my knee against his chest.

“Animated and pulsing for want of your presence...” His hand slid up the inside of my bare thigh, and gently he pressed it to the side, making way for his advancing torso. “...to have you, to consume you...”

“No...” but it was a weak protest, and now he gazed down at my breasts, their form glazed beneath the clinging sheen of butterscotch satin.

“You are a vision,” he said, his eyes unblinking and predatory, “a visionary apparition, and your visage amasses in my consciousness until I feel I must pluck it out... or surrender...”

He drew the s’ out like soft serpents caressing the air, and the sounds drew my will out of my mind leaving nothing but the lapping waves of rhythm he was fashioning in the space around us.

My wrists lay upon the floor, my hands conquered and open. My knees sprawled wantonly. Resistance was futile and over before it had begun. And still he was not satisfied.

His dark eyes bore into mine through the black curtain of his hair. “Ask me, Rachel.”

I could hear my own breathing, heady, heavy breaths like the sounds in a diver’s world.

“Ask me to come on.”

There are no words under the sea.

Undeterred by my silence, Gräfen continued advancing until the heat from his breath warmed my face, so close I could see each unblemished pore in his skin.

“Sultry.” The timber of his voice made me float.

Then his lips were at my ear, and he growled, “Succulent.”

Something about the word reminded me I should be fearful. I pressed back against the stone wall, the cold in stark contrast to my chest, which was burning from his presence.

“Do not conceal your desire from me.” His hand gently clasped mine, and he brought it to his chest. “Let it ripen, Rachel. Let yourself become what you were born to be.”

I felt his heart quicken beneath my touch. A man’s heartbeat.

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