Page 98 of Besieger
“And you are doing so well.”
No human, man or woman, had ever felt like this. Victor had considered finding partners among the pack, but decided against it. He would have to leave them in a few years; why form attachments? If the need arose, it was better to find a lover among the humans, those who frequented the clubs and bars, the Bean, even the bakery.
A vampire, however…
How many times had it been tonight? Erik riding him, the sight of him gliding up and down, rocking and shivering with need, his moans muffled in Victor’s neck as he filled his mouth with blood. Erik threw his head back and keened, his thrusts growing almost desperate as he rolled his hips, chasing the high, eager for release.
“Enjoying yourself?” Victor teased, running his hands over Erik’s waist and hips.
“It’s the blood…” Erik practically whined. He bit his lower lip and sucked on it, making a poor attempt to muffle his moans.
“The blood? Not you fucking yourself on my cock?” Victor straightened and adjusted his posture on the bed. His movement threw Erik off his rhythm and his marquis whimpered, grinding,ever so raw and needy for it. He looked utterly undone the more Victor edged him. “If you are like this now, how will you take me when—”
When I shift. When I become a wolf.
Victor could not bring himself to say the words aloud, despite knowing that the confines of his mind were not safe, not even in a moment like this. He had heard that the monstrous act could be done. Other lycans had tried it, members of the pack made casual remarks, almost gloating and teasing, saying just about anything to draw a reaction from Victor. He was not surprised at all that any of them would shift and rut, whether with their own kind, or with creatures they should never have touched at all.
Animals, all of them,Victor snorted.And I am no better, like a dog in heat.
Dismissing the idea entirely, he closed his fingers around Erik’s long-neglected erection and began stroking him. His thumb pressed at the soft moist tip, and smeared precum down the whole length, watching Erik squirm, his thrusts faltering.
Was it the vampiric influence that had pushed him that far, that made him want to tear and devour, to let go of the last remnants of his humanity?
Itisthe blood, he realised, recalling how wretched he was, how destitute when Erik had offered his wrists, his mouth, even before they got into bed. The blood had gotten him to this point, to imagining himself fucking Erik on all fours as a beast, jaws clamped around his neck, ready to snap shut at the slightest provocation.
“Victor.” Erik’s voice dripped like sap, sticky and sweet. A finger poked at Victor’s forehead, and he blinked up at the grinning face above him. “You keep getting distracted. Focus on menow. There will be time for more later.”
EMERICK, 1844
Der Merkurhad been in open waters for less than a few days when a strange sickness crept through the ship. It made passengers and seamen lightheaded and fatigued. There were no obvious causes, no clear pattern, except that it passed over children and the old. Perversely, the two classes most vulnerable aboard seemed to be immune. The sickness struck young men: hearty travellers and seasoned hands. Rarely did it claim a member of the crew, despite many exhibiting symptoms, growing pale and weak. They could not stomach the food and complained of voices no one else seemed to hear. It was as if the sickness had a mind of its own, and knew that the ship needed a crew to sail her through the Mediterranean. The captain and the officers were left to walk the decks, as the vessel creaked and laboured at night, the steady rise and fall of the sails like the breathing of a giant’s lungs.
When a patient finally succumbed, a makeshift sea burial was held, the chaplain’s sermons dissolving into the salt and the foam. The men fastened the ropes around the canvas sack and waited for the captain’s signal before committing the body to the deep. A few passengers had come to honour the poor soul, their heads bowed in prayer a moment longer before going back inside. The night air was biting cold and stung their cheeks, the light of the lantern made things worse by casting deformed shadows over the wet deck.
Silvio put his hat back on and adjusted the lapels of his Carrick coat. Once the small gathering had dispersed, he walked over to the railing. He drew out his pocket watch, and glanced briefly at the glass face before snapping it shut.
“The chaplain is a punctual man. All the funerals take place at precisely this hour,” he observed, amused, turning the watch between his gloved fingers.
“A curious detail,” Emerick agreed reluctantly. He ran a hand through his hair, fingers passing too quickly through the shortcut. He was beginning to regret boarding the ship with it cropped so close; now it meant he had to trim it every night or risk betraying their charade. The crew was spooked enough as it was, they did not need cause to suspect Emerick of being a witch, or worse...
Silvio cast him a sideways glance, equally displeased by Emerick’s choice of hairstyle for the duration of their voyage.
“Shall we go inside? I believe we are expected at the captain’s table.”
“He is wasting both his time and food on us,” Silvio conceded.
“I will be sure to let him know our feeding preferences lie elsewhere,” Emerick teased, flashing his fangs.
Silvio shook his head and pushed past him. The body they drained earlier had not been discovered yet. They had left it in its cabin, the rough blanket drawn up to its chin, a mimicry of a peaceful death, the bite marks on the neck and arms healed and gone. By next nightfall the corpse was bound to be found and arranged to be thrown into the sea, one among the many Silvio and Emerick had culled.
Hunting onboard a ship was tricky; they tried not to kill their victims outright, but the men fell sick from blood loss. Some went quickly, others took days, slowly withering away. They shared meals, taking turns to seduce and lure the mortal to the dark underbelly of the vessel, or cornered them in their sleep. When the thirst was too much, they drained the body and threw it overboard themselves. Other times they returned it to the cabin and left it there for some passenger to make the grim discovery. They tried to drink sparingly, but the blood was never enough, the more time they were going to spend at sea, the more it would turn stale, even unsavoury. Yet they gulped it like water, desperate for more.
Despite the repetitive gloom of the sea burials, Emerick looked forward to them. They gave him an excuse to be out on the upper deck, away from their modest quarters. He shared a cabin with Silvio, sleeping together in a single bunk, hard-pressed like pages in a prayer book. Sometimes Silvio showed mercy by being the one who slept against the wall, but the space remained small, suffocating, and Emerick was anxious for the sun to set so they might go out. He woke up shivering, clutching at Silvio’s shirt in a death-grip, the knuckles of his fingers white. He was frozen and weak; despite not being locked in a box, it still felt like he was trapped underground, and he could hear the water splash on all sides, the waves trying to shallow and drown them.
“It appears we now have vacant cabins. Wouldn’t Monsieur le Marquis prefer to make use of them?” Captain Jürgen offered when the conversation at dinner had gone stale, the officers quietly cutting the meat in their plates.
Like the majority ofDer Merkur’s crew, Jürgen had pale blond hair and light grey eyes. His complexion once fair was now permanently burned by salt wind and sun. He had a neatly trimmed beard which made him look older. The human carried himself with a command of both body and ship, a presence Emerick enjoyed watching.
“That would be disrespectful of the dead, Captain. We will continue the voyage in our current accommodations. But you have my gratitude for the offer, nonetheless,” Silvio declined, his tone faintly dismissive, as the fingers of his hand idly caressed Emerick’s thigh under the table.
