Clara grinned again. “Got the whole ‘better treat her right’ speech. And she threatened me if I didn’t start taking better care of you.” The vampire grimaced. “She’s kind of right about that one. But mostly I think she’s been saving up the whole ‘better treat her’ right speech for a while, and she wasn’t sure how to deliver it to a girl.”
“I gave her ex that speech. Now Shane won’t let me kill him.”
“He’s a bastard that way,” Clara murmured, tracing Shamira’s lips with her tongue.
Without even realizing it, Shamira pulled her girlfriend on top of her by moving to the bed and lying back. Clara wasn’t going to stay away from her lover’s lips for long.
“Blood’s gone,” Shamira muttered.
“I know.” Clara got an evil twinkle in her eye. Her hands sought out Shamira’s wrists, pushing them over the woman’s head. The newer vampire’s brain went a bit fuzzy as those all-too-familiar cuffs at the corners of the bed secured her wrists. She watched the wounded vampire shiver for a moment. ‘Is it too soon?’ she thought. ‘To put her in chains again?’ But those muscular shoulders settled down and relaxed. “Slaves should have routines,” she said, disguising her relief in a husky voice. “You’ve neglected yours.”
“Yes, Mistress Clara,” Shamira replied. ‘How is this going to work?’ Clara ripped Shamira’s shirt off and shredded the unflattering sports bra she had on underneath. Fingers dug into breast flesh hard enough to leave impressions. ‘Okay, THAT’S how it is going to work.’ She loved the feeling of Clara’s hands on her.
Clara mounted Shamira’s face, pressing her wet sex against the captive girl’s nervous mouth. She grabbed a handful of Shamira’s hair, albeit not quite as rough as she had been known to do before. Clara did not want her friend to know how nervous she was, but she was bound and determined to give the woman as much of her life back as she could. THIS was part of that life.
Shamira’s legs did not work, but her tongue surely did, and it remembered exactly where it was supposed to go. It violated Clara’s sex while her lips sucked inward on delicate, feminine flesh. She had missed the ability to serve and service this woman, and she had missed the grip on her hair as she was used for another’s pleasure. And when she felt one nipple pinched and twisted . . . Oh, she had missed that too. Clara had given her a taste of it when they had entertained Arthur and Kira, but now she was getting a banquet.
“Get the asshole too, you little slut,” Clara growled happily. She pulled on one of Shamira’s nubs, distending it to the point of obscenity. If she had planned this ahead of time, she’d have her nipple clamps closer at hand. She knew how much Shamira liked them.
Shamira did as she was told. It was an odd sensation to be performing this act and not feel anything below her own waistline, but she did feel the now familiar pulsing in her dead heart and warmness and tightness of her skin. These things comforted her as she performed her duties and reminded her that there were still pleasures of the flesh to be had for her. Nails raked over her breasts and shoulders, fingers gripped her hair, and wet pussy was pressed tightly against her face. It was so wonderful to experience that it bordered on the surreal.
Despite the playful nature of their game, there was also a subtle sense of urgency for the two women. Clara needed what was happening almost as much as her girlfriend. Shamira had been right when she had said that being on top and being able to do whatever she wanted to a submissive was a part of Clara’s personality. She was going to demand pleasure from this woman, for the rest of the night if necessary. She rubbed her sex over Shamira’s face, bumping and grinding and otherwise smothering. Shamira’s tongue did not seem to be suffering from ring rust as it found familiar places in Clara’s body to tantalize, tease, and stimulate. Their bodies certainly remembered each other.
Clara was quicker to cum than she might normally be, but she had basically refrained from so much as masturbating during the last several weeks. “Make . . . me . . . cum!” she growled. Shamira proved herself happy to obey and oblige. Clara’s body shook when her pent-up desires were satisfied and unleashed. She settled on Shamira’s face, relishing the muscle exertion and the subsequent slow relaxation.
“I think we need some more practice, don’t you, my pet?”
“Yes, Mistress Clara.”
———— —————-
A week later . . .
———— —————-
Bunny was trying really hard not to laugh as they pulled into a Rent-A-Storage facility near Dublin, Georgia. For the entire trip, she had been picking up the brown paper sack next to Shamira’s seat, showing it to her, and grinning like a madman. A peanut-butter sandwich, some applesauce, a now-empty blood pack, and a banana.
Clara had for some inexplicable reason decided to start packing Shamira a lunch on her prisoner-transfer trips. Shamira had no idea where this domestic outburst had come from, but it was kind of sweet albeit a trifle embarrassing. It was as if Clara was claiming her, and more than just as a regular sex toy. Shamira did not make too much of a deal about it. Taking care of Shamira seemed to make Clara feel better.
“Did she put a toy inside?” Bunny asked, poking her nose into the bag again. “Like a Happy Meal?”
Shamira grinned as she took the bag away and put it back on the floor. “You’re just jealous.”
“Of course I am!” Bunny replied with a grin of her own. “It’s just so domestic! Like a BDSM version of ‘Leave it to Beaver.’ I’m surprised she really DIDN’T put a pair of handcuffs in here as a toy surprise.”
“We have plenty.” Shamira saw a group of familiar people standing next to a storage unit at the end of the row, so she pulled the van along side. They looked serious.
“What’s up?” she asked Henry after rolling the window down.
“Something weird is going on down near Lacroix’s estate. We’ve lost track of a patrol from Florida that was guarding his private dock, and Banshee and one of Pritchard’s men got dropped.”
Shamira’s eyes went wide and her blood turned cold. “What –”
“They’re okay. They were in an abandoned building where they could see Lacroix’s secondary gate when something brought the whole structure down on them. It takes a hell of a lot more than dropping a ton of bricks to kill someone like Banshee, though she’s busted up something good. Pritchard’s hunt leader is bringing them both up, and we want you to take them back with you this trip. Banshee will probably be good to go in a couple of days.”
Shamira felt a weight lifted from her shoulders. Banshee’s one-woman crusade to avenge what had been done to Shamira had become somewhat legendary. “Do we know what did it?”
“No, but it wasn’t magic. The wards around the estate are still intact. But something did pass through them shortly before the attack, and whatever it was had to be big.”
“What about the patrol in the harbor?”
“No idea. But Lacroix and Jonas seem to have gotten another shipment of supplies in from somewhere during the lapse in coverage. This may drag on a bit longer than we thought.”
“Or it might escalate. Did they find anything at either scene?”
Henry looked nervous. “Nothing at the harbor at all, but some of the stones on the collapsed building looked –”
“Looked like what?”
“Burned.”
Shamira settled back into her seat and closed her eyes. She did not want to say what they were probably all thinking, but she did anyway. “At the end of the map . . . there be dragons.”
———— ————————
To be continued . . .