Soulless, p.8
Soulless, page 8
Ban laughed. "Nonsense. The answers would disappoint you bitterly. As a mortal man, I was a blacksmith's apprentice. I shod horses and hammered out plowshares. Badly, or so I was told." Taking up the knife, Ban ran a fingertip along its edge before gently digging the point under Nicholas's boot-top. "And like my plowshares, this tool may not prove up to the task. Prepare yourself."
Nicholas winced as the knife dug deeper. Mouth compressed to a thin line, Ban exerted his strength until the blade pierced the leather. Using the serrated edge meant for skinning boars or deer, he opened the boot all the way to the ankle. The absence of pressure was shockingly pleasurable.
"Oh," Nicholas whispered, so relieved he blinked back tears.
With another swipe of the knife, Ban opened Nicholas's trouser leg to the thigh. "If I didn't know better, I'd say that was a release of sorts."
"Pain at the worst moment. Pleasure when the boot-leather split." Nicholas frowned at the sight of his purple, swollen knee. "Story of my life. Opposite sensations ever-threatening to merge."
"Is that so? At last we discover a patch of common ground. Lesson two. If you satisfy me, I will repay you with pleasure."
"Pleasure?" Nicholas wiped his eyes. "Me? How?"
"Does your knee ache?"
"Of course."
"Mark me, then." Something metallic flashed on Ban's forefinger. Nicholas barely felt the twin prongs puncture his hot, miserable flesh. But when the vampire's mouth fastened on his sprained, swollen joint, Nicholas cried out, writhing as teeth tore into flesh.
"Stop!"
Ban did, but only for a moment. The metallic prongs flashed again, digging into Ban's wrist. As crimson jets spurted, Ban pressed his fresh injury against Nicholas's open wound, mixing their blood.
Red-black fire bloomed behind Nicholas's eyelids. Pain blossomed in his toes, his gut, his throat, his eyes. The agony crested so fast his head lolled, confusing torment for joy. If he could just let go of his body, let go of his accursed existence and know peace....
"Nicky," a voice said by his ear. "You fainted."
"No, I didn't. Blasted horse. Where's John? Is he on his feet yet?"
"Nicholas." The voice was suddenly stern. "Bend your knee. Now."
Coming back to himself through gauzy clouds of pain, Nicholas did as commanded, expecting to drop backward again into blackness. Of course, his pelvis and kneecap resisted, the poorly-mended breaks transmitting waves of displeasure. Otherwise, the knee bent effortlessly, as if he'd never fallen atop it.
"You. You healed the joint." Nicholas stared at his knee. With effort, he tore his gaze away, up to meet Ban's. Never, except in his darkest, most inebriated moments, had Nicholas believed he possessed a soul to sell, or that a fallen angel called Lucifer hoped to buy it. Yet suddenly he knew if he faced such a choice, he was about to damn himself without a second thought. "You have the power to cure me? Restore me?"
Ban seemed to smile, but his eyes were downcast. It was the closest thing to pity Nicholas had seen on the vampire's face. "Indeed, Nicky, I cannot. Old Ones, like my master, possess many gifts. They can kill the weak-minded with a thought, glimpse the future, commune with the past. They can restore any human injury, even a lost limb, though such healing often creates bastard offspring like me. But such bastards can heal only fresh injuries, like the wounds on Martha's neck. My power is but a dim reflection of my master's, akin to the sun's light reflected by the face of the moon."
Nicholas took a few moments to absorb Ban's words. To call himself disappointed was incorrect. He'd known it couldn't be true, known there was no help or healing for him. Yet for a few spellbound seconds, he'd believed, because he wanted to believe. The loss of that belief, even so fleeting, felt like an amputation.
"You've been well educated, I see," he said, unable to fill the silence with anything else. In Maidenstone, it was rare as hen's teeth, to quote Mrs. Parker, to find someone who understood the true source of moonlight. Ordinarily, he would have been delighted. But his voice sounded dull, unfamiliar.
"I would not measure myself against you as a scientist." Ban straddled Nicholas, pressing him flat on his back. "Otherwise, I know things you've never dreamt of." Bending close, he kissed Nicholas's right earlobe, caressing it with his lips, and then tracing it with his tongue.
Nicholas closed his eyes. So many sensations in such a short time—fear, pain, hope, and hope's inevitable death—had rendered him too weak to resist, not only in body but in mind. Ban would have his way. Nicholas would be defiled, mocked, used obscenely, or buggered outright, then bled to death. The last would be swift and probably painless. Many had suffered a worse end.
Long fingers worked into his hair. Framing Nicholas's head with both hands, Ban dug his nails down to the roots, sending trails of tingling pleasure along Nicholas's scalp. Next, that mouth kissed him again, following the line of his beard, finding the occasional curl and tugging playfully. Nicholas almost laughed; the sensation was ludicrous and stimulating at the same time. Then Ban's lips closed over his, kissing him with those same playful, teasing motions.
It had never been like this with Lydia. She'd enjoyed Nicholas's kisses during their courtship. But in their marriage bed, she'd gone still, thinking about England, no doubt. Never again had kisses been given simply for the pleasure of skin against skin.
"Your flesh is cold," Nicholas murmured, touching Ban's hair for the first time. It was softer and slightly oilier than any Nicholas remembered touching.
"Yes. Well. There's a certain term," Ban said, shifting his tongue to lick the fur between Nicholas's chin and the well of his throat. "I believe it's 'dead.'"
Unable to stop himself, Nicholas cupped Ban's cheek with one hand, finding the vampire's jugular vein with the other. There it was. That pulse, far slower than any Nicholas had encountered, but unmistakable.
"Unless," Ban continued, putting a hand over Nicholas's and squeezing gently, "you imagine your time at university gives you authority to argue?"
"You walk. You talk. You breathe. Your heart beats. You even nourish yourself, however oddly. The most ignorant goatherd would pronounce you living. How often do you cut your hair?"
"I...." Rising to his knees again, Ban seemed to chuckle in spite of himself. "Perhaps... twice a year?"
"These 'bastard children' you mentioned, the dhampir, your fellow vampires. How long do they live?"
"A thousand years. Sometimes more."
"What do they die of? If not sunlight or fire, I mean?"
Now Ban did laugh. "What a singular man you are. I would accuse you of playing for time, speaking nonsense to distract me from my purpose, yet I see that is not the case. You're truly curious. Do my attentions move you so little?"
"Yes. Well. There's a certain term. I believe it's 'eunuch.'"
Looking thoughtful, Ban eased down again. Stretching his long, lean body atop Nicholas, he supported himself on his elbows. Both were still fully clothed, except for Nicholas's missing boots and ripped trouser leg. "Am I hurting you?" Ban murmured, nuzzling Nicholas's throat again.
"No." In truth, his stomach had dropped when Ban covered him that way, but not with fear.
"Put your arms around me."
As Nicholas obeyed, an involuntary sigh of pleasure escaped him. It had been four years since he'd embraced anyone for any reason, much less in bed.
"Tighter." Kissing him again, Ban parted Nicholas's lips, exploring with his tongue. Soon Nicholas kissed back with rising ardor, remembering those unimagined desires he'd discovered during their first meeting. Yes, he'd been drunk, not to mention enthralled. But the observations and feelings had been real, despite the tools required to unlock them. What man with tolerable sight and even the most rudimentary sense of beauty would find Ban anything but comely? His waist was slim, his shoulders broad, his legs long and straight. Those high cheekbones and fine eyes were flawless. Even the firm press of his phallus against Nicholas's belly didn't trouble him. Anything to be held again, rubbed, kissed....
"Sweet Nicky," Ban breathed, drawing back at last. "I'm going to undress you."
Fear returned then, crushing as a double lungful of gravel. "No. Please. Don't. I-I can't satisfy you. All I can do is disgust you."
For a moment, Nicholas thought he spied dismay on the vampire's face. Then Ban's features shifted to obvious disapproval.
"By your own word, you belong to me. You will submit to me in this bed or suffer the consequences. I'll have your waistcoat off, for a start. Sit up."
Nicholas obeyed. Slowly, the vampire removed the embroidered silk garment, casting it aside. "Now the shirt."
Untying the strings at his neck and wrists, Nicholas forced himself to comply, pulling the long shirt over his head. As he discarded it, Ban smiled.
"You blush prettier than a maiden. Alas, Nicky. I must feed."
"Of course." Nicholas was surprised, even pleased, by the dignity he displayed. Lying back, he closed his eyes, turning his head to allow Ban the fullest access to his throat.
Let it be quick....
Sharp, slender prongs pierced Nicholas, but not where he expected. Eyes flying open, he saw Ban's head dip between his legs, mouth fastening on his exposed inner thigh. Having punctured the flesh, Ban seized on the fresh wound with such rapidity, not a drop of blood was spilled.
"Oh," Nicholas whispered, surprised by the eroticism of it, the luxuriant, obscene transfer of his liquid heat into the vampire's swiftly-warming mouth. Even his ruined cock tried to respond, the numb shaft tingling faintly as the root swelled. But shame prevented him from caressing himself there, accepting what little pleasure his body still afforded him. Pathetic though he was, he couldn't let himself expire so reprehensibly, tugging at a dead organ as Ban sucked his lifeblood away. Instead, he dug his fingers into Ban's soft black hair, pushing down to encourage him, moaning softly as the vampire fed.
Or not so quick....
Nicholas made a little sound of protest when Ban lifted his face, showing another mouthful of reddened teeth. "That's enough for tonight. But, Nicky. Now I need something else."
Dazed and lightheaded, Nicholas wasn't afraid. Still, he waited, unwilling to remove his trousers and open his legs until the vampire commanded it.
Smiling, Ban eased down again, resuming those open-mouthed kisses as if they'd never halted. Hungry to be embraced, Nicholas gave himself up to the closeness and growing warmth between them. When Ban pulled back at last, unlacing his trousers and bringing out his cock, Nicholas merely watched, fascinated. Thick, long, and fully engorged, the organ reminded him of those pagan effigies certain Maidenstone farmers still constructed in secret.
To encourage fertility in the fields....
"You smile. It pleases you?" Ban murmured, caressing himself.
"It's the sort of thing peasants still worship in springtime, whether they admit it or not." Still deliciously dazed, Nicholas kept his gaze on the vampire's quickening hand movements, mesmerized.
"Of course they do. All men worship the phallus. Covertly or overtly." Closing his eyes, Ban squeezed tight, pulling at himself with vicious intensity.
Breath increasing, heart thudding in his ears, Nicholas went hot all over. Furtively he touched himself through his trousers, rubbing the root, the only area still capable of sensation. Some wanton part of him ached to stroke Ban's cock, test its firmness, pull harder and harder until....
"Oh," Ban gasped. Still straddling Nicholas, he leaned forward, supporting himself with his left hand while aiming with his right. "Nicky."
Warm splatter covered Nicholas's chest and upper arms, but it wasn't there for long. Almost at once, Ban's mouth went to work, licking his seed off Nicholas's biceps, collarbone, and nipples. The stroke of that tongue, the sensation of those kisses, coaxed another moan from Nicholas, who was not ashamed. When Ban, finished, lay still against him, covering him from head to toe, Nicholas slid his arms around the vampire, holding him tight. And then, at last, shame overtook him, though he did not let go.
"Why?" Ban asked some minutes later, when his breath regained its usual slow rhythm.
Nicholas released him. Unable to turn his body away, he turned his face.
"You misunderstand." Ban kissed his cheek. "I don't ask why you hold me. Only why you're ashamed."
Nicholas stiffened. "You hear my thoughts?"
"No. But our qi merged, however briefly. When that happens, I feel what you feel."
"Key?"
"Another time. No more lessons tonight." Up and out of bed in two graceful movements, Ban peered out the window. "The bonfire's revelry ends soon, I expect. Dawn should arrive in another three hours or so."
"What happens to you when the sun rises?"
"I dash away to Beelzebub and suck his knob till spring. What an abominable student you are, Nicky. Always questioning me out of turn, despite threats against your very life." Ban sounded amused rather than angry. "I will put it down to loss of blood, but I warn you. Leniency this first night is no proof against severe correction on the morrow. Now. Shall I help you finish undressing, lest your housekeeper discover you abed with trousers still on?"
"No," Nicholas said, suddenly realizing how very tired he was. How much blood had Ban taken? "I always sleep in trousers."
"Must you guard the sensibilities of a woman who's known you from birth?"
"I guard my own." Nicholas sighed. "There's nothing I want to see less than myself."
Keeping a respectful distance from the candelabra, Ban blew out the flames. By starlight he was still visible to Nicholas, but only dimly, like some boyhood tale of faery princes, or beasts who wore the faces of men. "Go to sleep, Nicky," he said, and was gone.
Chapter Seven
Ban didn't leave Grantley straightaway. Nor did he resume his earlier attempts to search the mansion and locate the Vessel, the mystical item his master, Sebastian, sought. Sebastian had occasionally spoken of the Vessel, always in vague or incomprehensible terms, leading Ban to think of the word with a capital V. Despite Ban's decades of education and a firm foundation in world literature, Eastern and Western philosophy, music and higher mathematics, Sebastian still treated Ban like a congenital idiot. He never confided in Ban more than circumstances dictated, and even then with transparent distaste, cursing the fate that had saddled him with a wooden-headed peasant for a servant. Ban knew Sebastian's true anger was aimed at himself, at what he'd become. Sometimes understanding the true source of Sebastian's seemingly limitless rage helped. Other times, it did not.
Ban suspected the Vessel was akin to the Holy Grail, the cup or bowl which had caught Christ's blood during the Crucifixion. According to legends well-known to Ban and most Europeans west of Germany, such a chalice contained unlimited healing powers, provided the man who discovered it, like Sir Galahad, was fit to look upon it. Of course, Ban didn't believe the stories that had grown up around the Holy Grail were historically accurate. Probably the blood in question came not from a Nazarene prophet, but from a staked Old One. Anyone, human or vampire, who understood the properties of such blood would preserve it. And preservation would be easy, as such blood would never decay, nor even clot, if kept cold and away from sunlight. Ban, who had seen most of the world, from the Forbidden City's Inner Court to Christiania's aurora borealis, did not doubt that adventurers, be they kings, knights, or mercenaries, would pursue such treasure across the face of the earth if they knew what miracles it could work. According to Sebastian, one of his ancestors had procured the Vessel and hidden it within his personal stronghold, eventually overrun by mortals, rebuilt in modern times and now called Grantley.
But if the blood is gone, as it surely must be, does the Vessel still retain some power? Were the Oldest truly so powerful?
Although Sebastian called himself an Old One, he was in truth the youngest of his tribe, conceived long after the Fall, whatever that meant. Most of his forbearers, those possessed of truly dazzling knowledge and ability, had died out centuries before Sebastian's birth—some staked, some crumbling to dust, some so weary of existence, they exited the world by setting themselves afire. Sebastian knew of the Oldest, he had access to some of their archives, but he'd never known them.
More than once it had crossed Ban's mind that Sebastian was deliberately oblique about the Vessel because he himself didn't know what it was. Certainly he'd laughed at Ban's mention of the Christians' fabled Sangreal, admonishing Ban not to overtax his brain.
"That's a folk tale from your own benighted corner of the planet, unheard of elsewhere," he'd said. "Do not concern yourself with the Vessel per se. Merely acquire Grantley for me and allow me to do the rest."
But those rebellious tendencies Ban nurtured in his heart formed a nest of vipers, ever-tempting him to greater offenses, especially while temperate weather kept Sebastian inert. So after leaving Nicholas to prepare himself, Ban had searched Grantley. For more than two hours, he'd trespassed in guest rooms, antechambers, and servants' quarters, rapping on walls in search of hidden passages. None presented themselves, despite his unusually acute hearing, nor had he uncovered any trapdoors leading into some sunken chamber or catacomb beneath the house. How small was the Vessel? Small enough to box up and hide, or bury somewhere on the grounds?
During the fruitless exploration, he'd acquired the serrated knife, rope, and tin of unguent. Sebastian had never permitted Ban to take a human lover for more than a single night, believing that such a familiar, as Sebastian called them, would distract Ban from his sworn duty to protect Sebastian and parley with humans in his stead. Still, Ban had often fantasized about taking a human pet. Keeping him bound hand and foot, bleeding him slow and making him last for days, even weeks. Though he'd known he couldn't do that to Nicholas, not without incurring Sebastian's wrath, he'd brought the rope in case the human, obviously spirited despite his injury, made some suicidal bid for freedom. The eventuality that he might heal Nicholas's sprained knee hadn't occurred to Ban. Neither had pleasuring himself and letting the salve wait for another encounter.
