Chapter One

 

The girl was well-built, Dougal thought appreciatively as he watched the play of muscles beneath her skin.

She was tied to the bed, spreadeagled, her body writhing, skin glistening with sweat as her chest fluttered wildly. He had gagged her, not so much out of fears of the neighbors since he occupied the entire floor, but simply because it hurt his ears.

Some girls were more responsive than others, and some were more vocal in their responsiveness. This one was both. He'd already drawn her through multiple climaxes, and the bed-sheet beneath her was damp with her sweat.

She was amusingly easy, as if every nerve ending was attuned to his touch, while her mind was an eager, open, panting thing, delighted to have its inhibitions torn asunder.

She had a long, slender body with large, full breasts, real breasts (Dougal disdained the other kind), and a lovely young face now matted with dyed blonde hair. She had no hair between his legs, a style which had become popular of late. Dougal could remember when women had hair under their arms, never mind between their legs.

Then again, he could remember when no single girl would be seen alone with a man, much less have sex with him outside of marriage. And even if she was minded to her father most certainly would be watching her far too closely to get away with it. When did dating even start, he thought, trying to remember back through the years.

When one got as old as him, earlier memories tended to run together, especially when they went back centuries.

The girl's arms and legs strained against the leather straps pinning her wrists and ankles, her hips bucking up more and more violently as another orgasm tore through her body. Her eyes were white and wild, her head rolling back as she screamed into the gag.

Dougal had three fingers inside her. She was hot and throbbing and wet, and very tight around them as he rolled her swollen clitoris with his thumb. He had developed a certain method of using the pad of his thumb to squeeze the clitoris down against the fingers pushing up from within her, then scrape the corner of his nail across it just ... so.

His other hand was on her breast, kneading it firmly. He could feel her heart pounding within her, which excited him in turn. He was a patient man, but he was not immune to this one's charms in terms of both a bed partner and... food.

She was young enough to be his great, great granddaughter many times over, but Dougal neither felt nor looked old. In fact, he looked like a powerfully built man in his prime, deep in his twenties, with broad shoulders and long reddish blonde hair spilling across his shoulders.

The girl slumped to the bed, gasping, eyes glazed over. He smiled and slid his fingers out of her, letting his hands glide gently over her body. He loved the tactile feel of her incredibly soft skin against him. His own hands were far from soft. They'd had sword callouses on them once, and were work roughened from long years of toil.

Not that he had to toil any more, of course, he mused, glancing up around him at the high ceiling in the enormous room. Broad windows looked out on the city around this tower, glistening with the lights of the surrounding towers. The bedroom itself was tastefully decorated with heavy, gleaming walnut chests and furnishings bought from a designer.

It wasn't his room, after all, just a room. And it was only used for one purpose.

His hands slid up and circled the girl's breasts, and he let his thumbs reach across, stroking her nipples as her eyes fluttered open. She moaned breathlessly, and he smiled down at her. It was almost time for him to satisfy his own hunger. Hungers, rather.

Dougal had an old fashioned mentality in terms of give and exchange (and almost everything else, in fact). He felt he owed the girl something for what she was about to surrender.

You looked after a sheep and protected it from the elements and predators, and in exchange, it surrendered its wool. A good bargain which benefited both parties. Well, as long as you didn't have a hungering for mutton.

He'd had so many women in his life it was impossible to remember them all, nor would he want to. Most, like this one, were mere passing fancies. He barely knew her name, nor cared to. She was there to satisfy his hunger and nothing more. She was a sheep he was about to sheer. She didn't know it, of course, but then, neither did the sheep.

Nor did either have any say in the sheering.

He smiled when he thought of the men he ran into today, the way they spoke of women, their desperate attempts at impressing them, at persuading them, at amusing them and entertaining them. Dougal knew none of that was necessary.

Women were products of their instincts no less than men. They wanted, above all else, a man with broad shoulders to protect them, a tall man with strong legs to hunt and provide for them, a fierce man to bar the cave door from hostile intruders.

It didn't matter that none of that was necessary anymore. Women still wanted it, and everything else was secondary or inconsequential. He was a tall, barrel chested man who exuded strength and confidence. He was handsome, yes, that too. He'd never needed to use any other form of persuasion to get a woman into his bed, though at times he'd gotten lazy and done so.

No woman, nor man, for that matter, could resist his will. That will had developed slowly over the years, his ability to sense people's emotions and influence them, to override their thoughts and turn them into his creatures. He rarely used that power to its fullest, not needing to.

He certainly didn't need it to persuade young lovelies like this into his bed. Though his ability to sense when they wanted him and were simply playing hard to get aided him in cutting the seductions short.

Nor did he need that power to bring them to moaning, gasping pleasure. He was an accomplished lover, with long centuries of experience and an understanding of how women thought. Of course, being able to understand how a particular woman thought was quite helpful in fulfilling her fantasies, and the power was quite useful for that.

It took little effort, with his highly attuned senses, to determine what a girl wanted and did not want, what she welcomed, what she dreamed of, what brought the utmost pleasure. He knew precisely how hard or long or fast to stroke, to press, to thrust, to kiss, to caress because her emotions were laid as bare to him as her body.

With her mind roiled by heat there was very little hidden to him, and not only could he read her but he could influence her, could nudge those emotions, those thoughts, in the direction he wished them to go. He could, in fact, bring this girl orgasm without even touching her, simply through influencing her mind.

But where was the challenge in that? More importantly, where was the fun in that? After centuries on this earth, fun was something Dougal took seriously!

That wasn't to say he wouldn't use that power, nor that he wasn't about to. Everything the girl had experienced thus far was merely the prelude to what was to come. She was still panting and gasping before him, moaning exhaustedly as he rolled her nipples between the pads of his thumbs and forefingers.

He frowned, trying to remember her name and failing. He delved lightly into her mind, a swirling storm of heat and passion, and pulled it free. Alyssa, a college girl from Indianapolis, currently studying archaeology at NYU.

It was almost time for Alyssa to experience the raw intensity of the pleasure her body was actually capable of. Likely she'd never experienced it before, and never would again.

He let his hands wander down her body again, and between her legs. Three fingers sank deep into her sex, causing her to moan helplessly, then he slid down her body, nibbling here and there, feeling his own excitement grow at the heat rising off the surface of her skin.

He brought his lips down against her clitoris, and her hips began to jerk and roll. He sucked deftly, his tongue swirling out and across it as his fingers pumped in and out of her sodden interior.

He could sense the moment as her mind fluttered and her body thrummed with tension. And when it arrived he pulled back, rose above her, then drew himself to hand. He was thick and long, and he saw her glassy eyes widen as she stared at it hungrily.

He grinned boyishly and pressed himself against her, feeling the firm young opening forced in and back, stretching wider as he fed himself into the mouth of her sex, then lowered his body onto hers. He drove his hips into her slowly and she began to writhe again, to tremble and moan into the gag.

"Now is the time, pretty girl," he whispered into her ear, his fingers sliding through her hair as he drew her head up and back.

His hips began to move in and back as he took up the strong, steady thrusting he knew she craved - he knew she craved, and he could sense her responsiveness, could sense the eager delight, the wild, spiraling heat as he used her, as he drew her up towards that peak again.

But then, as he plunged himself deep into her belly his mind darted in as well, plunging into her mind, she was very near orgasm, but he tore her up and threw her over the edge, then sent her screaming - not down, but up, up higher and higher!

He felt the terrible intensity of the pleasure flaying her mind as she screamed and screamed, and in that instant, he pulled her head back roughly, to expose her throat. His incisors slid into view, and he drove his mouth down, his fangs sinking into her flesh.

The orgasm lashed her with a howling storm of pleasure, and such small pain was lost amid the torrent of energy and sensations ripping through her body and mind. His hips kept moving, thrusting hard and fast as he drank deep of her essence, as he felt the warmth sinking into his flesh and bones.

The girl continued to thrash wildly as he fed deeply, and he opened his mind to it, letting it sweep him into his own orgasm. It felt very much as if their minds merged, and he was now flooded with the same incredible pleasure and passion filling her!

His hips thrust even more powerfully into her young body as he shuddered and groaned and trembled, then spent himself there, just as she screamed out the last of the breath in her lungs and then slumped bonelessly beneath him.

He sighed happily and eased his lips off her throat. The bite marks were hardly noticeable. He was a very neat drinker, after all. She lay spreadeagled and nearly still. Her chest still rose and fell as the breath fluttered in and out of her. He removed the gag so she could breathe more freely, then smiled and rolled off her, feeling invigorated.

Of course, now he had the problem of what to do with this girl. That was always the downside. She was weak and exhausted, both physically and emotionally drained. And the problem with giving girls the most intense sexual experience of their lives was they tended to want more.

Not that he couldn't put on another such bravado performance again and again, but he had learned, over the centuries, not to get too attached to people whose lives were a mere fraction as long as his.

Besides, aside from her physical beauty he didn't really see anything particularly attractive about her. She was narcissistic and shallow, like most young people. The music and entertainments she enjoyed were silly.

And she would probably expect him to go out in the daylight...

Nor did he much feel like dealing with her desire to sleep with him (as opposed to sex), especially since he didn't sleep at night. No, he was done with her and wanted to get rid of her now.

He'd have no trouble finding another little lovely to satisfy him tomorrow, or perhaps the next day.

He leaned over and put his hand under her limp head, closing his eyes as he reached into her mind to blur her memories of him, of what he looked like and where he had taken her. She would think her poor memory was due to alcohol later.

There were many tricks one could play upon the unconscious human mind, some of them quite cruel. He could, if he so desired, cause her to walk out into the sea and drown, without her even knowing that was what she was doing.

But Dougal had never been unnecessarily cruel. Besides, he liked girls, and harbored no anger or meanness towards them. But he had fulfilled his side of the bargain and now it was time for her to go home.

He kissed her gently and laid her head back as she began to stir, her legs moving weakly as she groaned. Then he left the room and went up the hall. The floor underneath him was black marble, the walls of a rich, polished onyx, soft light coming from crystal wall sconces.

The double doors to his own room were made of African Blackwood, hideously expensive to work with, but very solid and black. Between the outer layers was an inch of solid steel. When the door closed behind him, he turned a lever, and the bolts slid up from the floor and down from the ceiling frame into holes recessed in the metal.

It would take a tank to break through them now, or one of his own kind. But the symbols and glyphs engraved on the steel would dissuade almost any of them from even trying. Dougal had an enhanced sense of paranoia where his own safety was concerned, especially when he slept.

He padded naked across the deep pile carpeting and into the large ensuite bath. The shower was big enough for a half dozen people without crowding. He stepped under the water and let it flow down upon him from above and either side.

He felt the awareness of the girl's return to consciousness. His implanted suggestion took control of her and she dressed, gathering her things, then left the room. He could sense her walking away up the hall and going out the front door, which locked behind her.

Because of the link between them he could still sense her as she rode down the elevator and stepped outside, then began to walk. She walked for some blocks before catching a cab back to the apartment she shared with two other girls.

By then he was lying in bed beneath the black silk sheets. He was just starting to feel the dawn approach, and let his mind roam back through the years even as he casually monitored Alyssa. He had done a lot of things over that time he wasn't really proud of. When he was younger, he was more thoughtless, more arrogant, and had less concern for the merely human.

He'd had no sense of responsibility and little care or concern over what happened to them. He hadn't gone the way of others of his kind, who amused themselves much like small children breaking their toys. He was thankful he didn't have that on his conscience, and that he still had a conscience.

Caleb, what a bastard he'd been. He'd bragged of the young nuns he'd taken, then sent off with implanted suggestions which had them working in bordellos, addicted to sex and unable to say no to anyone. Dougal had wound up killing him when the man's arrogance and jealousy of his own growing power made him feel Dougal was a threat.

He had no idea, really, how many of his kind there were out there. New York was a popular location, since you could do almost anything anonymously here for a very long time as long as you weren't too clumsy.

This penthouse, for example, was in the name of a corporation. That way no concerns would be raised if he chose to stay here for a period of time which exceeded human life expectancy. He rather liked the place, though he'd only been here twenty years to date.

He'd lived in all the world's great capitals, been a soldier, sailor, a doctor and builder, a conqueror and destroyer, a businessman, where his abilities made him a fortune until he tired of the game, and a scientist when he thought he might be able to figure out exactly what he was, and exactly what his limits were.

And why the sun burned his skin as badly as it did.

Vampire was the only thing which came to mind, though he hated to use the term, as did the others of his kind he'd met. Yes, he drank blood. Yes, he had many of the powers often ascribed to them, and even some of the limitations. But he'd never found an accurate depiction, in fiction or science, that matched him.

He sensed the girl reaching home, getting undressed, and going to bed. She acted drunk, though she wasn't. The implanted suggestion faded from her mind as soon as she fell asleep and he nodded in satisfaction. She would waken with a foggy memory of meeting a handsome man, whose face wasn't quite clear, going to a hotel, having incredible sex, and then... nothing much.

That was as it had to be, unless he could figure out how to make others live as long as him, and there were only two ways of doing that, neither of which was altogether palatable. One was to make them as he was, and that had a tremendous responsibility to it.

The other had a certain appeal, but he'd never found the right person, male or female, to be sure he wanted to be near them for centuries to come. He'd given up even thinking he ever would.