The Magic Hunt by L.L. Raand

Author:L.L. Raand [Raand, L.L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, lesbian, romance, Werewolves, paranormal, Vampires, Urban Fantasy, erotica, futa, Clit-dick
ISBN: 9781626390454
Google: cHn4nQEACAAJ
Amazon: B00J1UK4TC
Goodreads: 18342383
Publisher: Bold Strokes
Published: 2014-03-15T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

Francesca lounged in the center of her broad bed, human twins—both young, blond, beautiful, and naked—curled up on either side. Idly she stroked the somnolent brother and sister and watched the monitors set into the Louis XVI armoire on the opposite wall. At just after sunfall, Vampires and those who hoped to host for them before the next dawn streamed into the club. Underground in her lair, human servants, blood bound, and blood slaves fed her court, handmaidens, and guards. Once the Vampires had fed, they were sexually potent and most lingered in their quarters, satisfying their urges with each other—with or without a coterie of their blood hosts. Ordinarily, she would have spent the early evening enjoying half a dozen hosts along with the sexual skills of her favorites, but tonight she had fed alone. Michel was absent from her bed again.

As she often did, Michel had spent the daylight hours in the offices Francesca kept in the lair beneath Nocturne, dealing with the business of running their various enterprises up and down the eastern seaboard. Like Francesca, Michel did not need to sleep during daylight hours and, like her, did so less and less as the decades wore on. But usually when it came time to feed, Michel was at her side. The one power Francesca still held over Michel, the oldest and most formidable Vampire of her line, was the ability to enhance Michel’s sexual pleasure with her own erotic allure. If she lost that hold on Michel, all that remained between them was history. Loyalty was a fleeting concept for immortals. The world around them changed, allegiances and alliances disappeared as death claimed others. She held dominion over those she ruled through only two means—violence and passion. She smiled to herself as the female beside her murmured and pressed close, her full breasts warm and heavy against Francesca’s arm.

“Again, please,” the female whispered.

Francesca circled her nail around the female’s nipple, leaving a thin trail of scarlet. The female keened softly, her hips rolling, and the scent of need teased Francesca’s senses.

Violence and passion. So little really separated them. Violence, though, was a much simpler weapon.

If one of her Vampires angered or challenged her, she imprisoned them and didn’t let them feed. They wouldn’t perish, but eventually they would long for true death, going nearly mad from hunger. If a Vampire threatened her rule or broke her commandments, she would take their head. Immortality, even for them, was relative. Swift, violent judgment. But those she ruled by passion, she did so only from her bed—the bed Michel had abandoned in favor of a series of Weres and blood slaves.

Beside her, the female whimpered, and the male stirred. Francesca stroked his chest and abdomen, smiling at his instant arousal. She’d fed from each already but hadn’t been inclined to satisfy her sexual urges with them. Humans had so little stamina, and their blood, while adequate to replenish the absent elements in her own blood, failed to invigorate her sexual interest.

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