Eternal Captive (Mark of the Vampire #3)
THE BREEDING MALE
Scotland
1872
Titus Evictus paced in his iron enclosure, his fangs fully extended, his pale eyes dilated, his long, heavily muscled body nude save for the painful iron cup that imprisoned his cock. There were moments in his miserable existence, brief and gleefully hopeful, when he felt less than rabid, when his mind attempted to clear away the fog, when the scent of blood was not ever-deep inside his nostrils-and when the call of a warm, wet pussy didn't send his body into spasms of painful arousal.
That day, however, was not today.
A veana was being led into his pen by two short pavens with long braided beards. Her kin. He recognized their scent from the night before. The veana struggled and grunted and breathed heavily, the scents of peat smoke and the spray of the sea escaping her skin. Though his nostrils flared and his mouth filled with saliva, Titus kept his back to the iron wall and his eyes down. After so many years of this delectable, tortuous labor, he now refused to look at the faces of the veanas that were brought before him.
He found their fear impossible to resist.
As her kin released her and quickly left the pen, slamming the iron door behind them, the veana stood stock-still, her fingers fisting around the gray fabric of her gown, the key to his iron prison dangling from the middle finger of her right hand. True to his nature, Titus wanted to leap upon her and take what was his, but his chains wouldn't stretch that far. Like all the others that came before her, she would have to yield and come to him. It was how it was, how it must be. Until she submitted, gave in to her fate, she would remain captive, hungry for blood, and desperate.
"Breeding Male?"
She spoke clearly and without tremor.
"Look up, Breeding Male."
Titus's chin twitched at her voice, her calm, determined tone. Normally it took hours, days for the veanas who were brought before him, caged with him, to give in, give up, and beg for a gentle hand.
"Now!" she said, so sharply it caused his fangs to descend. "Look at me!"
Titus couldn't help himself, not with such a bold, impassioned tongue before him. His eyelids flipped up and he took in the daring Scottish lass, the one who carried no scent of fear on her skin or in her blood. She displayed fine curves and a heavy bosom. Her neck, though burdened with a thick strip of purity cloth, was the whitest, most luscious thing he'd ever beheld. And just a few inches north, long ringlets of honey blond hair framed a pale, pleasing face. But it was her pink mouth and her eyes-green flecked with black, staring straight into his, brazen as a demon goddess-that had his fangs dropping farther.
She lifted her chin and regarded him. "What say ye, Breeding Male?"
The veana grinned at his animal-like response, flashing her own set of needle-sharp fangs. "That'll do fer a start," she said, her brogue rich and throaty as she looked him over.
His cock pulsed inside its iron prison-the one that kept his hand away when he was blindly desperate to mate-the one that preserved his seed. Never in Titus's long life, in his capacity as Breeding Male, had a veana ever spoken to him in such a manner. Once beneath him, there were moans, yes, and cries, both in fear and in pleasure...but never this. This calm, this curiosity, this nearly lusty excitement...
"It has taken me quite some time, Breeding Male," she said, walking toward him, her hips swaying gently beneath her simple gown, "not to mention great effort, to find myself here. I have heard the tales of ye, and those who were in fear of yer touch-but I am no silly lass. Aye, I may be virgini, but I have prepared myself for ye." She smiled. "Many nights, many times."
Fire raged through Titus and he strained against his chains, the clash of metal echoing throughout the pen enclosure. His nostrils widened with every step she took, eager for more of her scent. How could it be? he thought desperately. There was no fear in her scent-not even a trace. It was impossible and yet it was how he had always wanted this moment to be. Just once. He despised himself every second of every day-but not today, not this moment. In this moment, the reflection staring back at him in her green eyes was not of the monster Breeding Male.
It was of a desired paven.
He ran his tongue over his fangs as she moved to within a foot of him.
The words of the veana's father to Titus's master last eve made sense now. She was six months into her Meta and in that time there had been no appearance of her true mate's mark. Her father had claimed that she was unconcerned with retaining her purity, remaining outside in the eve without the watchful eyes of her kin. And just three nights ago, she had been found on her knees in the family barn, servicing an Impure field worker.
Titus watched hungrily as the veana stripped the purity bands from her wrists and neck, then started to work the buttons of her gown. He didn't need clothing removed to do the job he was required to do, only the quick lift of her skirt, but as she slowly revealed her skin to him, each pale inch, he understood the true feelings of lust-pure, not purposeful, lust.
"I would be content with a wee paven, Breeding Male," she said, stepping forward, taking the key she had been given and unlocking the iron cup between his legs.
Her hand shook slightly in her work, but it was not from fear. He knew this. He scented this.
He let loose another feral growl as his rod sprang free.
She licked her lips at the sight. "But dunna be quick about it. They willna come for me until daybreak. We have much time together."
Stripped bare, she lay down on the hard stone floor before him, displaying her pale, young body, her long legs, her glistening cunt to his ravenous gaze.
His cock stood straight up and ready, and as she opened her legs for him, the cry-the howl-that erupted from his throat could be heard all the way to Edinburgh. He was Titus Evictus and he was the Breeding Male. In an instant, he was on top of her, his fangs striking into her shoulder as his cock slid deep inside her hot, willing body.