"The hell I do," the woman growled, sounding insulted at the suggestion as she turned and hopped away toward the door.
She picked up something and turned, but it wasn't until she was halfway back that he saw that what she'd gone to fetch was a long butcher knife. And she was hopping around with it, apparently oblivious to the fact that she could skewer herself with it if she fell. Not a rocket scientist then, he thought dryly.
"Dressler's a whacked-out sadist," she huffed out as she reached the table again and picked up one of the bags. "He drugged and dropped me here too."
Domitian frowned. "Why would he--?" The words stopped on a gurgle as she suddenly held the bag over his mouth and punctured it with the knife, sending a torrent of the thick liquid splashing into his open mouth and onto his face.
Swallowing the mouthful he'd first got, he turned his head to the side to avoid the flow and snapped, "What the hell are you doing?" as the liquid now continued to pour out over the side of his head.
"Trying to feed you," she said with exasperation. Catching him firmly by the chin, she tried to force his head back to its original position. "Open your mouth."
Domitian resisted at first, but then conscious of the wasted blood, let his head roll back and opened his mouth for the blood to flow in. The liquid was running too swiftly though. He tried to keep up with it, but ended up choking and coughing, sending a good portion of the liquid shooting out over the woman's face and chest.
"You guys are messy eaters," she muttered with disgust, tossing the bag aside the moment it was empty and reaching for another.
Domitian ground his teeth and growled, "This is not how we feed."
"Oh?" She stopped with the bag and knife over his mouth and raised an eyebrow. "How do you feed, then?"
"Unchain me and I will feed myself," he said at once.
That brought a snort from her luscious lips. "Yeah, right, buddy. If I unchain you, it isn't gonna happen until you've had at least four bags of this stuff. I have no intention of being your breakfast."
Domitian scowled. "We do not feed on--"
"Yeah, yeah," she interrupted. "You have rules against feeding off mortals and yada yada. Well, forgive me, but I'm a cop and know a lot of rule breakers. I have no intention of taking chances here. So tell me how to feed you properly or I'm gonna slice this bag like I did the last one and feed you that way."
They glared at each other briefly and then Domitian sighed. "I let my teeth out and you pop the bag to them," he said grimly, and then reluctantly cautioned, "But not too hard or the bag will rupture and splash everywhere. And not too lightly or my teeth won't puncture it."
"Right. Not too hard, and not too light," she said with a roll of the eyes. And then she lowered the knife and said, "Okay, so get your fangs out. We don't have all day here."
Domitian spared a moment to glare at her. He had no idea who she was, but she was definitely a bossy bit of goods . . . and ridiculously sexy in that damned nightgown. Cursing under his breath, he opened his mouth. His fangs had been trying to slide out since she'd entered the room, bringing the scent of blood with her, but he'd forced them to stay where they were. Now he let them slide forward. The woman watched with fascination, and then slapped the bag to his mouth.
They both released a relieved little sigh when it landed properly, sliding onto his fangs without bursting. Domitian relaxed then, his gaze sliding over her as he waited for his fangs to drain the bag. There were splashes of blood on her cheek and neck now, but it pretty much coated her pretty breasts both above the gown's neckline as well as through the frail cloth itself. He found himself wishing he could lick it away for her. The thought was a rather shocking one for a man who hadn't thought about sex in centuries, at least not in regards to anyone but the life mate out there waiting for him to claim her.
Shocking enough in fact to clear Domitian's thinking a bit and make him realize that he should have taken control of the woman and made her unchain him the moment she'd entered the room. That had his gaze rising to her forehead so that he could focus on her thoughts and take control.
Only he couldn't.
Coming up against a blank wall in her mind, Domitian regathered himself and tried again, but it was no good. He couldn't read this woman.
For a moment Domitian was too shocked to think anything, but then his brain began to screech.
Dear God! She was another life mate! After all these millennia alone, he now had two women to choose from; his sweet little Sarita and this . . . creature.
Domitian's gaze skated to her breasts again as a surfeit of possibilities began to fill his mind. The most interesting one was the thought of two life mates in his bed. He had some trouble picturing his sweet Sarita naked and in his bed at that moment, but he could see this one there, her hair a wild mass on the pillow, her eyes sleepy with desire, her mouth open on a moan rather than pursed with irritation or displeasure and her breasts glistening with blood as they were now.
If the bag hadn't been in the way, Domitian would have licked his lips as he gazed at them. They were lovely. Large and full like ripe melons waiting to be plucked from the vine. And her nipples, he breathed out slowly through his nose as he focused on her nipples, noticing that they were growing hard before his eyes.
Curious, he glanced back to her face and saw that while he'd been ogling her, her own eyes had been busy traveling down his body. They were now focused on the chains across his groin.
"Are you wearing anything under that chain skirt of yours?" she asked suddenly, her voice slightly husky. Apparently not pleased by that, she scowled and lifted her gaze back to his face. "Are you?"
Domitian merely peered at her over the bag in his mouth. It was hard to speak with a mouthful of bag.
Seeming to realize that, she said, "Blink once for yes and twice for no."
Unsure of the answer, he stared back unblinking.
"I'll take that as an I don't know," she announced dryly and ripped the now-empty bag away.
"What's your name?" Domitian managed to get out just before she slapped another full one to his teeth.
She arched her eyebrows at him. "You should know. You're the one who's had a private detective following me around for fifteen years."
Domitian stilled at this irritated announcement, his eyes examining her face. Sarita? No it couldn't be, he thought. But now that he was looking at her face and not her breasts, or the rest of her body in that seductive nightgown she was wearing, there was something . . .
As she'd said, the private detective he'd hired had been sending him monthly reports for fifteen years. The reports had told him what she was doing and with whom. He'd read about her doing well in school, her taking martial arts, her part-time jobs as a teenager, and the large group of friends she'd had. He'd been proud as could be when she finished high school and went on to university to get a bachelor's degree in criminology. He'd always planned to wait until she'd grown up and worked at her chosen career for two years before going to claim her. So, when she'd graduated, he'd started to plan his trip to Canada, where he'd intended to arrange to "bump into her" and then woo her as she deserved. But then Sarita had applied to and been accepted into the police college. At the time he'd been disappointed at the delay in his being able to claim her. But he'd stuck to his guns and waited.
She was well worth the wait, Domitian decided as his gaze slid over her again.
While the reports he'd received had been pretty thorough, even at first mentioning the boys she had dated, the one thing they had not included was pictures of Sarita. That had been by Domitian's choice. He had wanted her to experience a little life before he claimed her, and it had been easier for him to resist doing that so long as he thought of her as the child she'd been when he'd first seen her in his restaurant. Domitian had feared he might not be able to resist going to her sooner if he got pictures of her at eighteen, nineteen, or twenty. So in his mind she'd remained the skinny, flat-chested child he'd first met, and while he'd often imagined what she
might look like now, none of his imaginings had equaled the seductive and lush woman bending over him, feeding him blood. Damn, she'd grown up fine.
So, not two life mates, Domitian realized, and wasn't at all disappointed. Fantasies aside, it would be difficult to please two immortal life mates in bed when you passed out after pleasuring the first. Besides, he could only turn one and would have had to choose between them if there were two.
Now he didn't have to, Domitian thought, his eyes drifting back to her breasts. God he couldn't wait to get his hands on them. He would feast on them, lick the blood away, and suck those perfect little pebbles between his lips, lash them with his tongue, and nip at the buds as he thrust into her and--
The clank of chains drew his attention from her breasts and Domitian peered down to see that he'd definitely been affected by his thoughts. He'd managed to work himself up to the point that he now had an erection pressing against the chains across his groin. He hadn't thought there was a lot of give in the chains, but judging by the bulge now noticeable between his legs he supposed there must be.
Apparently he wasn't the only one to notice his present state. Sarita said dryly, "If you have enough blood to spare it for erections, you've definitely had enough."
Domitian shifted his gaze back to her, his eyes getting caught on her jiggling breasts as she tossed the empty bag aside.
Sarita turned back, scowling when she saw where he was looking and snapped, "Hey! Eyes up here, buddy!"
He jerked his eyes up to meet hers, and she scowled and shook her head. "Look, we have to get something straight here. Dressler said we're life mates or some such thing and mentioned a bunch of twaddle about great sex and yada yada, but I'm not interested. Got it? There will be no kissy kissy, gropey gropey . . . or sex. Entender? No sexo!"
Domitian bit his lip to hold back the laugh that wanted to escape him. He suspected she wouldn't see what was so amusing here, but really, he'd imagined their first meeting repeatedly over the last fifteen years. But not once in any of them had she been a feisty little bit of goods in a sexy-as-hell see-through gown telling him "no sexo!"
"Got it?" she repeated.
Domitian nodded mildly, allowing a smile to curve his lips. "As you wish."
Sarita's eyes narrowed, his words hitting on some memory in the back of her head. When she couldn't access it, she just let it go and straightened to prop her hand on her hips as she looked him over. Reluctant concern entering her expression, she asked, "How are you feeling?"
Domitian couldn't hide his surprise at the seeming change in attitude.
"I mean are you full or what?" she explained, and then apparently not wanting him to think she was actually concerned about his health, added, "Full enough not to bite me if I unchain you?"
"I will not bite you," Domitian assured her solemnly, and then just because he felt quite sure it would annoy her, he added, "until you ask me."
"Yeah, well that'll be when hell freezes over then," Sarita muttered and suddenly ducked out of sight.
Startled, Domitian lifted his head and strained against the chains to glance over the side of the table, relaxing when he saw that she'd merely dropped to sit cross-legged on the floor so that she could examine the chains under the table. But he frowned when he noticed the smears of blood on the floor where she'd been standing. And those red ribbons he'd thought were part of the gown? They were crimson rivulets of blood trailing from her upper thighs down, he saw.
Domitian had just opened his mouth to ask if she was all right when she announced, "There's a padlock holding the chains together."
"Are you--?"
"It's okay. It's a number lock padlock," she growled.
Forgetting his question, Domitian let himself lie flat again and asked, "Why is that okay?"
"It's one of those padlocks with four number wheels on it. You have to enter the right numbers to open it," she explained and he heard her moving around and the jangle of chain.
"And that's good because?" His tone was dry this time. It didn't sound all that good to him. If the padlock was on the top of the chains around his waist, he could have just broken it and got himself free. But not being able to reach it made that a problem and he knew without a doubt she wouldn't have the strength to simply break it herself.
"It's good because I had a boyfriend in high school who showed me how to crack these suckers," she informed him. "I think he was trying to impress me," Sarita continued dryly. "But really, all it did was convince me that he'd be one of the guys I'd have to arrest one day when I became a cop, and that I should never use these kind of padlocks again. At the time, I had one for my bike," she explained absently, and then added irritably, "You'd think Dressler would have left the combination in his letter."
"Hmm," Domitian murmured, but he was wondering if the boyfriend in question was one he'd received reports on. After her first couple of boyfriends in high school, he'd told the private detective not to bother reporting on them in future. While he'd wanted her to grow up and have all the usual experiences a young woman had, Domitian had found he had a terrible jealous streak. Every mention of a spotty teenage mortal taking her to a dance or film had made him want to get on a plane and go claim her. Fortunately, he'd restrained himself.
"So," he said when the silence drew out with just the clanging of chains, "you wanted to be a police officer even in high school?"
"Since I was thirteen," she answered, her voice growing husky and sad.
Domitian merely grunted. Thirteen was when her mother had died. He didn't doubt for a minute that was the reason she'd decided to become a police officer. It was a subject that obviously still hurt her, though, and he found he didn't like her sad. He preferred his "feisty Sarita," so, knowing it would annoy her, he suggested, "Perhaps you should look around and see if he left a combination somewhere here in this room."
"I don't need a combination," she ground out with obvious irritation. "All you have to do is pull firmly on the shackle and spin each of the wheels from the farthest one out, to the one nearest the shackle. As each wheel hits the right number, it locks in place and the shackle slides out a bit and you move on to the next. It's easy and--" she gave a hoot of success and then finished "--done!"
Her fist flew up with the removed lock in it and then Sarita popped back into view. Her air was triumphant, but he didn't miss the wince that crossed her face as she straightened next to him. A determined expression took over almost before he'd registered the pain, and she quickly began to unravel the chain from around him and the table.
"I'm not sure where we are," Sarita said as she worked, drawing the end of the chain across his body, letting it drop under the table and then reaching across him to grab the now-longer length of chain and pull it across him again. "Dressler said it was his first home here in Venezuela. Where he and his wife lived while they waited for their island house to be built. We're on the coast, but I'm not sure where, and there's no road access, just a dock and no boat. We're going to have to walk out of here to find help."
"You're bleeding," Domitian said the minute she stopped speaking. "He hurt you?"
"What?" She paused in removing the chain to look down at herself. Her gaze stopped on her bloody chest and she shook her head. "You're the one who got me all bloody. While I was feeding you. Remember?" she said, trying to prod his memory.
"Not your beautiful breasts," he said solemnly, and was surprised to see her flush and appear a little flustered. Apparently, she was not used to compliments like that. A situation Domitian intended to change. "I was referring to your shapely legs and feet."
When she peered down at herself again, he craned his head to get another look at her blood-streaked lower body and feet.
Sarita scowled at her injuries and shook her head again as she returned to unraveling the chain. "That wasn't Dressler."
"Then what happened?" Domitian asked at once.
"I stepped on broken glass," Sarita said with a shrug as she drew the chain across his body again and let
it drop.
That explained the bloody footprints and her hopping, he acknowledged. But--"What about the blood on your legs?"
Sarita was silent so long he didn't think she was going to answer, but finally she grimaced and admitted, "I stabbed myself with steak knives."
"What?" he asked with disbelief. "Why?"
"Well, I didn't do it on purpose," she said with irritation. "It was an accident."
"How the hell do you accidentally stab yourself with a steak knife?" Domitian asked with disbelief.
"Four steak knives actually. Well, a paring knife and three steak knives," Sarita corrected and then explained, "I had them tucked into my thong, forgot about them, bent to pick up something, and--" She ended with a shrug, and then suddenly stopped working to glance toward the door. In the next moment she'd grabbed the knife she'd set on the table and started to hop away toward the door.
"What are you doing?" Domitian asked with concern. "Stop that, you will hurt yourself. Finish unchaining me and I will see to your wounds."
"You aren't seeing to anything," she assured him sharply. "And I'm just getting my knives in case you go getting ideas once you're unchained."
"Do not be ridiculous," he growled, and then watched with dismay as Sarita reached the counter by the door and began to gather several knives off the metal surface. No doubt the paring knife and three steak knives she'd mentioned. Much to his dismay, she clutched them by the handles, pressed close to her chest along with the butcher knife, and began to hop back to the table.
"Stop!" Domitian bellowed with horror, visions of her falling and stabbing herself dancing in his head.
"Stop yourself," Sarita barked continuing forward.
It was all too much for Domitian. Positive she was about to tumble to the floor and impale herself on all five of the damned knives, he sat up abruptly, snapping the remaining chain surrounding him. Some part of his mind noted that he hadn't been left completely naked, he still had his boxers on. But most of his concentration as he lunged off the table was on getting to his life mate before the foolish woman killed herself with those damned knives.
Sarita released a startled curse when he swept her off her feet and pressed her to his hard chest. But she didn't protest, merely clutched her knives against her bosom, and scowled up at him as he carried her out of the room.