The Burning (18 page)

Van Helsing’s hand strayed to her throat, caressed her jaw, fingered her still lips. “Wake up, my delectable loon . . .” he whispered. “Do you not want to give me a kiss?” She lay silent, her thick lashes fringing her cheek.

Van Helsing chuffed his disappointment and flicked at her cheek with his finger. “You’ll be doing your wifely duty soon enough, once you wake up.” She offered no response. He smiled and straightened. Stephan hated that smile. “You’ll spread your legs and your backside, too, my loon. I’ll bet your anus is smooth and tight. I’ll have to lubricate your back passage with your blood or my seed.” The smile grew into a grin. Stephan could see that he’d gotten an erection. “Any I have left after you’ve sucked me.” He bent as though to lift the hem of her shift.

The surge of power cascaded over Van Helsing and made
him gasp. His face went blank. Stephan was shaking in the darkness. “I have to go,” Van Helsing muttered, coming to himself. He frowned and turned on his heel, leaving her uncovered.

The moment the door had slammed behind him, Stephan lurched from his hiding place. His Companion healed the half-moons of blood on his palms left by his nails almost instantly. He strode across the room and pulled the quilt up over her. Anger churned in his belly as he sat beside her. The coward! He dared to disrespect her when she could not defend herself? Thank God, she would never agree to marry
this
vile worm, not if she was the woman he suspected she was. This creature would hurt even a normal woman, just for the pleasure of being cruel. But for one afraid of touch, Van Helsing’s idea of conjugal relations would be hell. The fear this girl had lived with all her life seemed very real to him at that moment. It had taken incredible spirit to live with fear like that.

Stephan sucked in air and stilled himself. He closed his eyes and let the familiar words wash through his mind as he sat down beside her.
Tuatha, denon, reheldra, sithfren
. He called the calm and control of the chants to suffuse him. Van Helsing was nothing to him. She was nothing. He opened his eyes, and his gaze filled with her. She was fragile, and so helpless. She deserved protection.

Stephan resolved to get to her nursery just at twilight tomorrow. He wouldn’t bother to conceal his vibrations. Let’s see if the brute wanted to stay and touch the girl then. Stephan wagered he could chase him from the room in seconds.

A horse pranced and whinnied on the gravel drive. He heard Van Helsing’s voice.

“I’ll be back with the runners.”

So, he was the one going up to London after the runners. Good. He’d be gone for at least a couple of days. He couldn’t be allowed to soil Miss Van Helsing with his unclean needs.

Ahhh, but what was churning up through Stephan’s own loins even now? He felt her thigh against his hip, warm under the coverlet. Was he any better than Van Helsing? Their kind was far more highly sexed than humans to begin with, and after his training . . . He pressed down an incipient erection. He was good at that. It was the legacy of the Daughters . . .

MIRSO MONASTERY, DECEMBER 1819

Stephan sat naked on one of the chaise longues, waiting. The room was warm again. His body was dry. They would be here soon, he was sure. He tried to take comfort in the fact that they could not possibly use him as they had last night. Anyone would be satiated from such a session. Nevertheless, he strained to hear steps in the corridor, his muscles tensed. He stared at the strange stain in the corner of the room and waited
.

The sounds were faint when they finally came. A shushing. The crackle of a torch. But he knew what it was. Bare feet against stone. They were accompanied by vibrations so old as to be nearly beyond sensation. So he was not surprised when the iron bar thunked open and the heavy oaken door swung inward
.

Deirdre entered first, of course, tall and willow-lithe, dressed in black again; a loose silken fabric gathered at her waist and rippling about her ankles. She was followed by Estancia, her figure straining at the red of her own deeply décolleté gown. Freya was last. She put the torch in a holder in the corridor. She was wearing white, her well-muscled body taut as a bow string. Their dark eyes and pale skin, a certain wide shape to their mouths, proclaimed their relationship. Stephan felt a small worm of fear in his bowels. If not sex tonight, what?

“What are you doing sitting in our place?” Deirdre’s voice was crisp and hard
.

“Your place?” That, of anything she might have said, was not what he expected
.

She took two strides and slapped him. His head snapped to the side. In shock, he surged to his feet. He felt her power ramp up. Red shone in her eyes
.

“Dee, he doesn’t know what’s required.” Freya grabbed her sister’s arm. “He needs education, that is all.” The red drained slowly from Deirdre’s eyes. She turned away abruptly
.

“Tell him, then,” she rasped. She went over to the sideboard and selected a peach from Mirso’s hothouse. Grapes, peaches, plums were heaped in summer bounty, glowing in the firelight. Estancia circled him, rubbing her breasts against him like a cat. Deirdre bit into her peach. The juice ran down her chin
.

Freya sat in the offending chair and motioned to a place beside her on the carpet. She smiled. Stephan had himself in hand now. He approached and knelt. Estancia followed
.

“You are a Penitent,” Freya began. Her voice was kind. Estancia began running her fingers through his damp hair. “That means there can be no challenges from you. You do not speak unless asked a direct question. And when asked, you answer humbly and straightforwardly with eyes downcast. You indicate your gratitude for our training and attention by complying eagerly with all instructions, no matter how difficult for you.”

“We can force you, of course.” Estancia knotted her fist in his hair and pulled his head up to look at her. She too smiled. It was not kind
.

“Stephan does not need forcing. He needs instruction,” Freya corrected. “Stancie, let him go.” Estancia unclenched her fingers and ran them once more through his hair. He bowed his head. “You may sit on the bench, or on the carpets. You will kneel in our presence. In our absence you may relieve yourself in the chamber pot as you require, but when we are here, you must ask permission. In our absence you may stoke the fire. That is allowed. But you must never touch yourself.” Here she looked sad. “Do you understand?”

He nodded. “I understand.” Could he do this? Had he any choice at this point?

“Tell him about the training,” Estancia prompted
.

Freya looked at Deirdre for confirmation before proceeding. Deirdre had come to stand over them, watching as she finished her peach. “I’m not sure you realize this, but the Companion blesses our kind with much more sexual drive than humans. Our partner’s urge to life is uniquely linked with its power, and expressed in sexual form. The key to increasing our power is to stimulate our sexuality. That is what we are about here. You will be subjected to intense sexual stimulation without release. This will be alternated with milking to strip you of your juices. The regimen will increase your potency and you will experience an increase in power. As you become even more highly sexed, the periods of restricted release will become shorter.”

Stephan’s stomach churned. Horror! What kind of training was this? The blues and reds of the pattern in the carpet seemed to swirl together
.

“Tell him about the next phase
—”

“No,” Deirdre interrupted. “Enough. He knows what is required of him. No more is needed.” She threw her peach pit into the fire. “Get to your bench.”

He could not move until the room and the carpet stopped writhing
.

“Do you need compulsion?” Freya asked softly. “It is allowed to ask for compulsion.”

He shook his head and made a supreme effort to stand and stagger over to the wide bench, more a bed than a sitting place. Estancia followed him. He fell onto the warm stone
.

“I should go first tonight,” she proclaimed, running her small, plump hands over his chest, thumbing his nipple. He was shocked to feel his loins tighten, until he realized that she had drawn a bit of her power. She was forcing his erection
.

“As you will. There is time tonight for all of us,” Deirdre said. “Just go slowly. Remember what happened last time.”

Estancia shrugged. She bent over him, her gaze roving over his body. He felt pinned, immobilized. Her eyes glowed with more than firelight. His cock swelled in response. Her hand strayed to caress it. The touch was like fire. She cupped his balls and squeezed in gentle threat. It made him suck in his breath. Deirdre came to stand over them, watching. Estancia rubbed him just behind his balls in slow circles. He suppressed a moan. Then she pulled her skirts apart—they were split to the waist
—
and straddled him. She grasped his cock and put it inside her. She was slick and ready. She began to ride him, her hands pushing against his chest. Deirdre watched. He lifted his hips, thrusting into her. He burned with need. Then Estancia slowed the pace and spread her most private lips to finger her own nub of pleasure as she pushed herself up and down over his cock. It wasn’t long before she was emitting little yips of ecstasy. Her contractions almost brought him off, but just as the feeling ramped up to intolerable sensation, he felt Deirdre call her power. He teetered on the edge of release . . . and did not achieve it. Estancia collapsed on his chest and rolled away with a moan, her back to the fire. He was still hard and throbbing, his chest heaving and his body covered with a light sheen of sweat. He turned his head. His eyes met Deirdre’s. He knew his need showed clearly. But he didn’t care
.

She shrugged off her black silk garment and lay beside him, one thigh over his. She did not touch his member, no matter that he willed her to it. Instead he felt that she wanted him to suckle her. He reached for her breast and licked, then sucked. Her nipple responded to his tongue by tightening. If possible, his need increased. Deirdre presented her other breast. He sucked eagerly. She urged him up and rolled under him. He straddled her on all fours. Estancia got to her knees and stroked the muscles in his back, and down over his buttocks. Deirdre spread her legs. His cock prodded her entrance. He felt Estancia’s hand slide between his buttocks. Her thumb rubbed at his anus. Deirdre wanted him inside her. Estancia pushed him down. He entered, fully, suddenly. He thrust inside Deirdre fiercely, seeking the mutual explosion he felt was possible. Feelings ramped up past all endurance, and then Estancia pressed her thumb inside him. Deirdre drew him down. He felt caught between them, transfixed as he continued thrusting. Deirdre drew her canines and pierced the vein just under his jaw. She sucked and rocked against him as she came. He was about to join her when he felt Estancia shower him with will. Again he was stoppered like a bottle. Deirdre contracted around him. Estancia withdrew her thumb. He thought his cock would explode. The need burned him, almost crossing over into pain. Surely soon they would allow him his release. Had he not been sufficiently restrained yet?

“Excellent,” Deirdre murmured. She had not uttered a sound during the pleasure she took of him. He collapsed onto the warm stone. Estancia moved away
.

“Freya,” she called. “Your turn.”

And so it went. When at last they were done with him, he lay on the rug, barely conscious, but still aching with need. He had not been allowed release at all
.

“He did well,” Freya murmured as she closed the door
.

“We shall see.”

Stephan took the girl’s hand as though it was a lifeline to the present.
Anchor me
. He didn’t want to remember those times. He wanted to remember the control they taught him in the
end, but not the torturous path to achieve it. But he couldn’t help it. The dim room of the nursery seemed only too like the dim room in the rock roots of Mirso, lit often only by the dying coals in the fire. Pressing the girl’s hand roused him. The feeling of flesh to flesh shot down into his loins. The memories crowded in on him. He couldn’t thrust them away.

They used him to exhaustion that night and many others. He wondered if they would ever allow him a release. His cock was chafed and raw, even though his bath was laden each day with soothing oils. He slept away the daylight hours as one dead. But then gradually, he had begun waking early, waiting in dread for the bath, the food, and then the Daughters to appear. With no books to distract him he spent hours staring at the black and greasy stain in the corner of the room. Sometimes the stain seemed to pulse or grow. He began to make up stories about it; that someone had thrown acid on the stone, or that someone immured here in the bowels of Mirso had tried to burn the monastery down. He wondered if the Daughters had used this room before. Perhaps there had been an occupant of this room even when he had been here as a child, never suspecting the suffering occurring beneath his feet. Over time the burning need for release grew. They forced his erection sometimes, but sometimes they didn’t have to, to his shame. He wondered how long he could go on like this, and whether he was any closer to his goal.

He dropped the girl’s hand, afraid that was what was bringing on the rush of memory. But it didn’t work.

Those first weeks were not the worst. There was the day of his failure, for instance . . .

MIRSO MONASTERY, MARCH 1820

He woke when daylight was still strong somewhere beyond the walls. He lay like a discarded doll on the carpet. But he had an erection. How could he, after what had happened every night? He got up and splashed water from the basin on his face. The bathwater from last night was cold. Perhaps he should immerse himself and hope that would cool his heat
.