Bound by Flames
Page 2
Once we were among the other dancers, the Joker drew me into his arms, his blue eyes flaring with an inhuman glow of green as they slid over my body. The costume fit me like a glove, leaving few of my curves to the imagination, but he looked like he was imagining anyway. Explicitly.
I suppressed a shudder, glad the head-to-toe rubber also muted the scent of distaste that had to be coming from me. The Joker’s silk and cloth attire didn’t act as an olfactory barrier. The scent of lust wafting from him practically clogged my nose, and I didn’t even breathe anymore. Since I needed information from him, I smiled as we began to dance. I’d learned how to waltz exactly one day ago, but that turned out to be practice enough. The Joker whirled me through steps I easily kept up with. He held me closer than the formal dance dictated, though, and I didn’t think it was an accident when his hand grazed my ass.
Once more, I glanced up at the balcony. Thank God it was still empty!
“When will you tell me your name, my enticing stranger?” the Joker asked, his hand still trailing low on my hip. “I can tell you’ve been newly made. Who do you belong to?”
I wasn’t surprised that he’d pegged me as a baby vampire. My costume might hold in my electrical currents and scent, but it couldn’t contain my aura, and like all new vampires, it was weak. Vlad’s guest list contained the biggest and baddest of Eastern Europe’s undead society, so under normal circumstances, I’d only be here as a stronger vampire’s servant. Being written off as insignificant suited me. Not knowing who I was meant the Joker didn’t know about my abilities, and I wasn’t about to give him any hints as to my real identity.
I used the next steps of the dance to maneuver his hand away from my ass. Then I smiled with what I hoped was mysterious allure. “Patience. I’ll tell you who I am at the unmasking.”
“Patience?” he repeated with more than a hint of scorn. Guess my attempt at being mysterious and alluring had failed.
Truth be told, I didn’t have a lot of experience with flirting. I’d started electrocuting anyone I touched at thirteen, which put me firmly in the “dateless” column for the next twelve years. Not even vampires were immune to the dangers of skin-to-skin contact with me, and that’s when I wasn’t even trying to hurt them. Since I needed the Joker to stay close for the next few minutes, I had to keep up my act, poor faux seduction skills or no. Soon, I’d sneak the detachable fingers off my right glove, touch him while holding in my currents, and thus find out his darkest secret.
Lie detector tests had nothing on my ability to discern people’s worst sins through a single touch. I’d hated my psychometric abilities until recently, when they had become a necessary tool for keeping me and the people I loved alive.
The Joker smiled, seeming to look past my less-than-suave flirting skills. Or, I realized as he danced us toward one of the ballroom’s curtained, secluded alcoves, he had something else in mind.
“Patience is a virtue and I hate virtues,” he murmured, using his body to force me into the alcove. “Besides, I don’t really care what your name is or who you belong to. All I want to know is how tight you are.”
Whoa. Talk about coming on too strong! “I don’t think so, my impatient friend,” I said, laughing as if he’d told a joke. “Maybe later, but now, let’s go back to the dance—”
“Let’s not,” he interrupted, pulling me flush against him. Then his hand landed on my ass as if I’d begged him to spank me. I gasped, so horrified at what was about to happen, I froze. The Joker’s head began to lower, his lips nearing mine—
He screamed as flames shot up his face. His hands flew off me to beat at the fire in an instinctive attempt to smother it. The flames only spread, glowing brighter before I could finish shouting, “Stop!”
I peeked out from the curtains to see Vlad shoving his way through the guests, who’d quit dancing to stare at the screaming, burning man. Vlad’s mask was off and his long dark hair swung from his rapid strides. His hands were covered in flames, but unlike the Joker frantically pummeling his own face, the flames didn’t burn Vlad. The same power that allowed him to manifest and control fire also kept him safe from its deadly effects.
“Stop?” Vlad’s voice whipped through the air, causing the vampires who’d moved toward the Joker to turn and walk away once they realized who’d caused the fire. “Why would I do that?”
Even if those present hadn’t figured it out, I wouldn’t let a man burn to death just to keep up the pretense.
I came out of the alcove. “Because he didn’t know that I’m your wife.”
Chapter 2
I drew off my mask and pulled down my face-framing headpiece. Black hair spilled around my shoulders, but that wasn’t my most distinctive feature. The scar running from the right side of my face all the way down to my hand was.
Gasps sounded and I almost pitied the other men I’d danced with. They probably expected to burst into flames next. Vampires were notoriously territorial over what they considered theirs. Add in Vlad being a centuries-old conqueror who’d earned the nickname “the Impaler” when he was human, and you had someone far scarier than Bram Stoker’s fictional version.
“Lock the doors. No one leaves,” Vlad stated, adding to the newly ominous atmosphere in the ballroom.
A flurry of activity signified his people rushing to obey. Say what you will about Castle Dracula—whether you saw them or not, Vlad’s guards were everywhere.
I suppressed a shudder, glad the head-to-toe rubber also muted the scent of distaste that had to be coming from me. The Joker’s silk and cloth attire didn’t act as an olfactory barrier. The scent of lust wafting from him practically clogged my nose, and I didn’t even breathe anymore. Since I needed information from him, I smiled as we began to dance. I’d learned how to waltz exactly one day ago, but that turned out to be practice enough. The Joker whirled me through steps I easily kept up with. He held me closer than the formal dance dictated, though, and I didn’t think it was an accident when his hand grazed my ass.
Once more, I glanced up at the balcony. Thank God it was still empty!
“When will you tell me your name, my enticing stranger?” the Joker asked, his hand still trailing low on my hip. “I can tell you’ve been newly made. Who do you belong to?”
I wasn’t surprised that he’d pegged me as a baby vampire. My costume might hold in my electrical currents and scent, but it couldn’t contain my aura, and like all new vampires, it was weak. Vlad’s guest list contained the biggest and baddest of Eastern Europe’s undead society, so under normal circumstances, I’d only be here as a stronger vampire’s servant. Being written off as insignificant suited me. Not knowing who I was meant the Joker didn’t know about my abilities, and I wasn’t about to give him any hints as to my real identity.
I used the next steps of the dance to maneuver his hand away from my ass. Then I smiled with what I hoped was mysterious allure. “Patience. I’ll tell you who I am at the unmasking.”
“Patience?” he repeated with more than a hint of scorn. Guess my attempt at being mysterious and alluring had failed.
Truth be told, I didn’t have a lot of experience with flirting. I’d started electrocuting anyone I touched at thirteen, which put me firmly in the “dateless” column for the next twelve years. Not even vampires were immune to the dangers of skin-to-skin contact with me, and that’s when I wasn’t even trying to hurt them. Since I needed the Joker to stay close for the next few minutes, I had to keep up my act, poor faux seduction skills or no. Soon, I’d sneak the detachable fingers off my right glove, touch him while holding in my currents, and thus find out his darkest secret.
Lie detector tests had nothing on my ability to discern people’s worst sins through a single touch. I’d hated my psychometric abilities until recently, when they had become a necessary tool for keeping me and the people I loved alive.
The Joker smiled, seeming to look past my less-than-suave flirting skills. Or, I realized as he danced us toward one of the ballroom’s curtained, secluded alcoves, he had something else in mind.
“Patience is a virtue and I hate virtues,” he murmured, using his body to force me into the alcove. “Besides, I don’t really care what your name is or who you belong to. All I want to know is how tight you are.”
Whoa. Talk about coming on too strong! “I don’t think so, my impatient friend,” I said, laughing as if he’d told a joke. “Maybe later, but now, let’s go back to the dance—”
“Let’s not,” he interrupted, pulling me flush against him. Then his hand landed on my ass as if I’d begged him to spank me. I gasped, so horrified at what was about to happen, I froze. The Joker’s head began to lower, his lips nearing mine—
He screamed as flames shot up his face. His hands flew off me to beat at the fire in an instinctive attempt to smother it. The flames only spread, glowing brighter before I could finish shouting, “Stop!”
I peeked out from the curtains to see Vlad shoving his way through the guests, who’d quit dancing to stare at the screaming, burning man. Vlad’s mask was off and his long dark hair swung from his rapid strides. His hands were covered in flames, but unlike the Joker frantically pummeling his own face, the flames didn’t burn Vlad. The same power that allowed him to manifest and control fire also kept him safe from its deadly effects.
“Stop?” Vlad’s voice whipped through the air, causing the vampires who’d moved toward the Joker to turn and walk away once they realized who’d caused the fire. “Why would I do that?”
Even if those present hadn’t figured it out, I wouldn’t let a man burn to death just to keep up the pretense.
I came out of the alcove. “Because he didn’t know that I’m your wife.”
Chapter 2
I drew off my mask and pulled down my face-framing headpiece. Black hair spilled around my shoulders, but that wasn’t my most distinctive feature. The scar running from the right side of my face all the way down to my hand was.
Gasps sounded and I almost pitied the other men I’d danced with. They probably expected to burst into flames next. Vampires were notoriously territorial over what they considered theirs. Add in Vlad being a centuries-old conqueror who’d earned the nickname “the Impaler” when he was human, and you had someone far scarier than Bram Stoker’s fictional version.
“Lock the doors. No one leaves,” Vlad stated, adding to the newly ominous atmosphere in the ballroom.
A flurry of activity signified his people rushing to obey. Say what you will about Castle Dracula—whether you saw them or not, Vlad’s guards were everywhere.
