Dancing With Death: Ensnared and Enraptured (Evading Death Book 1) Page 3

  “I will find a way to end your miserable life,” Violetta said in a strangled voice, desperately fighting her body’s reaction to his caress. “I will mete out my own brand of justice when you are least expecting it, and I’ll make you suffer the agonies of a thousand hells.”

  “That just makes the game more fun, darling. You do your worst, and I’ll try and do mine.” He pressed the tip of a single finger into her entrance, circling the tiny, wet hole, and smiled as she shuddered. “Have you had a lot of experience in your few short human years of existence, Violetta?” She snorted, and he took that as an ‘I am not going to answer that question for your amusement.’ Her mind was showering him with thoughts of his death, gruesome, bloody and involving several stabbing implements that she felt the need to use repeatedly. “Charmed, I’m sure,” he said as his fingers withdrew from her sex and moved backwards, towards the tiny, tight puckered hole that just might be virginal. Has anyone taken your ass?” She choked and gurgled as he pressed the thought home in the deepest recesses of her mind. Clamping her lips tightly against the response that threatened to burst through them, she felt sharp pain simmer between her eyes as he tried to elicit her reply. She fought it, but it was nearly more than her strength would allow.

  “Fine. I’ll leave you a few secrets for now,” he said as his finger pressed against her sphincter, once, twice, and then withdrew its unwanted attention. “We’ll have plenty of time to discover them all.” He squeezed her breast through the thin silk of her shift sharply, making her gasp, and then they were catapulted back into the madding throng of the ballroom, their feet having not missed a single beat.

  “How do you do that?” she whispered, her purple eyes so big they were beginning to resemble the flower she was named after.

  “Trust me, you don’t want to know. Well, not yet at any rate,” and there was a look of pure devilment in his eyes. There’s a lot you don’t want to know about me, so the fewer questions you ask the better. I can guarantee you won’t like the answers.”

  It took a full two seconds before the pain of her earlier broken bone began to consume her. He isolated the darkened pupils behind the mask and watched her expression as it twisted and almost disfigured her face.

  “Call the cronies off, and I’ll take away the pain.” He flicked his gaze back to her friends who were staring at them with impatient glares. Death was in the air, and the general consensus was that it was going to be his.

  “I believe we’ve had this conversation. The answer’s still no.” She gave him a mutinous look and fluttered her long eyelashes at him. It was about all she could do as he artfully manipulated the rest of her.

  He clucked his tongue. “Tsk, tsk. This simply won’t do. You’ve yet to learn the consequences of disobeying me, but you will, cherie. When I say jump, you say how high, how far, and in what direction, Sir?” He narrowed his eyes and let the force of his gaze burn her flesh. “You will do exactly as I ask,” he said, his voice deceptively soft, “or this is what will happen.”

  He pushed a myriad of thoughts into her head, and they exploded with vicious aggression. Her mouth opened instantly in a helpless, silent scream; for what had once had been a charming and genteel ballroom was now a massacre of the worst violence imaginable and the walls glistened with blood. Monsieur Martinet had been busy. At the moment he was dancing with one of her protectors, an elderly dame named Georgette, but the lady’s eyes rolled in her head and her movements were that of a marionette, jerky and uncoordinated. She obviously had no idea of whom or what controlled her. Martinet then took her head in his hands, twisted it sharply, and discarded her body like a worthless piece of trash. His eyes twinkled with merriment as he grabbed his next victim, a gentleman by the name of Connaught. Her throat constricted. He had been one of her stoutest supporters and had taught her everything she knew. They shared an affection that she didn’t lavish on many. This time, the death doled out by the vampire was merciless. He tore half of his neck out with his teeth and let his pointed talons rake down the man’s body, tearing his clothes to shreds and reducing the body beneath to bloody ribbons. Violetta’s knees would have folded, had she had control over them.

  “Stop,” she pleaded as her brain cells began to implode within her head. “For God’s sake stop,” but either he never heard her or he was having far too much fun. His next target was, for all intents and purposes, her mother, and she was a huntress in her own right. They shared a close bond and a common goal, having been firm friends for all twenty-four years of Violetta’s life. They had shared blood, sweat, and tears together, along with smiles and laughter. She had been the best parent any child could have hoped for.

  Martinet had her pinned against the wall. He rubbed his body along hers and watched her eyes fill with fear as she realised she could not move a muscle. She had managed to pull a silver dagger out of her bodice before his gaze had come to rest upon her, but it now sat at a careless angle, drooping like a wilted flower in her useless hand above his head. Flicking it away with his thumb and forefinger, he gave her a rictus grin and slowly flexed every digit in his right hand, enjoying her look of terrorised panic as he moved his hand towards her sternum. He then punched his fist through her chest and ripped out the tangled remains of her heart, torn arteries still pumping blood in a futile attempt to sustain life. The light died in her eyes, and her mutilated body plummeted to the ground.

  “Enough,” screamed Violetta, and she didn’t care who heard her in the staid confines of Venice’s moneyed aristocracy. Her body was shaking all over, and a fine sheen of sweat coated her forehead and the back of her neck.

  He bore down on her face and hammered his message home with a biting tone. “You have no power here. I hold all the cards. You had your chance, you lost everything. At this moment in time, your life is worth less to me than a casual encounter with a particularly annoying bug. I care not if you live or die, but at the moment it entertains me to see you fight so I may allow you to see another dawn or two while I instruct you on the arts of pleasuring me. You have no choice, no will, and no say in this matter. So you’d do better to please rather than annoy me. I can make you suffer worse torments than death, cherie, and I’ll be happy to prove it to you. Now call off your hounds before I do all that you have just seen and much more.”

  He released her then, pushed her away from him with more force than necessary and left her tottering unsteadily on the highly polished floor. He withdrew from the crowd silently, but remained a firm presence in her mind. It took her a moment to get her balance, but he aided her with his invisible control.

  ‘Tell your friends that you are about to finish me off in the gardens and will return with the evidence in due course. That is what they usually expect, is it not?’

  ‘They will want blood,’ she replied by way of thought.

  ‘They will get it: yours, but don’t worry your wound will not be mortal. Now be a good girl and get over there before I renege on our deal and begin a storm of carnage that would impress Genghis Khan.’

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ was the caustic reply, and his echoing laughter in her head was not a pleasant sound.

  ‘You’re learning.’ With that, the pain from her arm vanished and full mobility returned. Her heart rate slowed, her mind cleared, and she was left with two choices. Obey, or watch all of those around her be slaughtered in a mindless fury.

  Or was there yet a third choice?

  ‘Dancing with Death’ is the prequel to ‘Desiring Death,’ a full length novel. Read on to have a sneak preview or take a look here for more details!

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  Christina Mandara was born in the UK, but has spent most of her life travelling the world. She speaks three languages and has been chiefly employed in the fields of finance and travel. Her favourite city is Sydney and her favourite holiday destination is the south of France.

  She loves keeping fit and enjoys running, cycling and water sports. No, not those kinds of water sports; think surfing or sailing. That doesn't mean that she doesn't enjoy BDSM in all of its glorious forms, be that pony girls, bondage, edge play, orgasm denial or a damn good spanking. Her favourite item in the toy closet (a box simply isn't big enough) is her riding crop.

  In her spare time she's usually cuddled up with a good book, exploring the countryside or baking in the kitchen. In fact, she loves her kitchen so much she's one of few woman who wouldn't mind being tied to it! Her first and foremost love is writing, however, and more often than not you'll find her on a laptop spinning tales of romance, erotica or dark, paranormal fantasies. The darker the better ;)

  Desiring Death – Preview

  Imagine a famed vampire huntress with a taste for death, so successful not a single vampire has ever managed to escape her wooden stakes or evade her silver knives. Her name is Violetta, and all that is about to change.

  Monsieur Martinet, vampire extraordinaire, is a master of his kind and can exert the kind of control over humans that Violetta has never seen before. He is a powerful force. He may well be unstoppable. And that's going to be a problem, because Violetta has killed every single one of Martinet's monstrous family - and he has a score to settle.

  He's going to abduct her, imprison her, and then tie her down until she begs for mercy. And that's only the beginning...

  Running

  Her lungs were burning. There was a tight knot in her chest that threatened to explode given half a chance, and four limbs that were fuelled by nothing more than lactic acid. The sandy grit underneath her bare feet ripped them to shreds, but she was beyond caring. All that mattered was distance. She had been given the chance to run and she intended to make full use of it. He would pursue her, of that she had no doubt.

  Breathe, just breathe, she implored her lungs. A ragged sound tore through her and the substance she finally managed to suck into her body was too little, too late. Her level of adrenaline was beginning to wane and the breakneck pace she had set for herself would not be maintained for long. Another tortured breath was forced into her chest as she kept her feet moving one in front of the other.

  Concentrating on her surroundings, she willed herself to think of nothing more than the slippery cobblestones beneath her feet. He could read every thought in her head and by that alone, he would track her. Don’t think… don’t think, she pleaded with herself, but as her level of panic increased, her concentration began to falter. Staring at the obsidian water of the canal below, feeling her feet slide on the slick carpet of stones beneath her as she stumbled forwards, she screamed. Soft, male laughter echoed inside her head. She stumbled again and searing pain shot through her fractured shoulder, nearly crippling her with its intensity.

  ‘Run and hide my precious little pet, but rest assured you’ll be in my bed before this night is out.’

  Violetta gasped and a strangled sob escaped her throat.

  ‘Don’t you find it highly amusing that the huntress has now become the hunted?’ The voice taunted her, but she knew better than to respond. With her legs buckling underneath her she ran as fast as she could towards St. Mark’s Basilica. She needed to be inside holy walls if there was to be any hope of winning this battle.

  A lone gondola made her jump as it sliced through the black water, its oars making tiny splashes at regular intervals. Looking over in its direction frantically, wondering if her tormentor would be behind the iron prow-head, she couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief as a handsome young Italian proffered his straw hat in her direction, touting for business. She didn’t give him a further glance as she continued on towards her destination.

  ‘Wherever you’re headed, I will find you, Violetta. You can run, but hiding is out the question. I am inside your mind. I can read your every thought as it begins to grow inside your head. You are mine and I intend to have my revenge. You will pay in every way imaginable. I’m going to rip that proud and self-assured demeanour of yours apart and rebuild you, from the bottom up. You’ll hang off my every word, you’ll beg to service me in my bed and out of it, and most importantly, you’ll live solely to please me. Until I choose to kill you, of course. Does that sound like a fitting revenge, Violetta? After all those deaths you have viciously doled out to my family, wouldn’t you like to atone to your maker in some way?’

  ‘You are a monster! I have no need to atone for anything.’ The words tumbled out of her frothing mouth in a barely legible, garbled stream, but he would have heard them. He heard everything. Realising her error, her feet desperately tried to pick up their pace, but they had little left to give. Her heart-beat was banging a hole in her chest and air had become a precious commodity that was about as abundant as gold dust. She knew with a fatalistic certainty that she would never make it to the cathedral. Her body would give out long before St. Mark’s square came into view. She wanted to sob hysterically, but the little energy she had left needed to be preserved. There must be some way out of this mess. There had to be.

  Looking up at the long row of three story apartment buildings that lined the canal, she saw that even though the time was well past midnight, Venice was disinclined to sleep. The soft glow of ochre light that spilled from worn, wooden shutters should have enchanted and mesmerised her. The ornate stone framework that encircled both windows and doors ought to have been a delight to behold, as were the beautiful, cheerful colours of the paintwork in hues of tangerine, lemon and terracotta, but nothing served to bring a smile to her face. Violetta’s world was crumbling around her and once it splintered, there would be no repairing it. Time was not on her side.

  A soft chuckle chose that moment to reverberate around her head. He was playing with her. It was a game of cat and mouse, and she was the smaller animal of the two. Damn it! She had just broadcast her position with a neon flag. What a stupidly foolish thing to do. Her brain was obviously dissolving into mush. Oh God, oh God, oh God. Panic began to overwhelm her. She had no claws that could compete with his. No-one would run to her aid. She was supposed to have been the best of the best, or had been until this evening’s debacle. Her feet picked up their pace once again as his laughter abruptly ended. Her head darted about over her shoulders, trying to catch a glimpse of him, but there was little chance she would see him unless he wanted to be seen. The beast would remain hidden, a mere figment of her imagination, until she had expended every last drop of energy she possessed. Then her fate would be decided, unless she determined to carve herself a new one and the options, to her mind, were somewhat limited and ultimately fatal.

  When Violetta had been contracted to kill Martinet, she had expected it to be business-as-usual. This was not arrogance on her part, as she was exceptionally talented at her profession. Doling out death with skill and exacting precision, many a vampire had tumbled to their demise from her quick hands and lightning-fast reflexes. For the last few years, it had hardly been much of a challenge and she had found herself thinking of ways to make the chase more entertaining. How foolish did that make her feel now? This evening she had become sloppy. She had not completed her homework. As a result of that, she would be lucky to survive more than a few days. If Martinet captured her, and the odds were decidedly stacked on his side, then he would probably tire of her quickly. If he didn’t get bored and snap her neck in two, he would drain her dry. Human victims didn’t usually live much past the denominator of a week.

  Her thoughts fled back to the masked ball earlier and the run up of events which had led to this mess. He’d been waiting for her outside the gardens of the Castello Verde. She’d approached him cautiously enough, but hadn’t taken any great pains to observe or scrutinize his behaviour.
That was her first mistake. If she had taken the trouble to examine the waxen tint of his skin or the incredible cobalt blue of his irises, she might have at least thought to ask for back-up. Her second mistake had been in underestimating his age. He’d been turned somewhere around his mid-thirties and the long, dark hair that curled enticingly at his neck had given him a youthful air of one younger than that, but you estimated a vampire’s real age by the translucency of their skin. When she’d had the chance to get a glimpse of him up close, he’d had barely a wrinkle upon him. He was flawless perfection all over and that did not bode well. That signified he had been alive for at least a century, maybe more, and it meant he would prove very difficult to kill.

  As the father of the children she had slain, it was expected that he would be the hardest to destroy, but she had never dreamt it would be virtually impossible. When he had set his sights upon her, flaring his hypnotic blue eyes to their widest potential, an intense pulse of fear had circulated around her body, one that had not crossed her features in several years.

  ‘You have the gift,’ she had whispered. Her emotions were tumbling around inside her body. Dread, shock, horror and the need to run as fast and as far as her legs would carry her. Although she had never actually met a vampire who carried ‘the gift,’ she had heard about it. Tales of vivid, neon eyes that could rip through a person’s mind and take away every secret they possessed had been used to scare her when she was nothing more than a fledgling. She had thought them flights of fancy, having never seen evidence to the contrary, but now she knew differently. The gift was painfully real and it was more manipulating than even she could have believed. He could control her every movement, the use of her voice, slow or speed-up her heartbeat, and even induce desire by deploying her own hormones. How humiliating that had been; wrapped in his arms in the great throng of the Castello’s ballroom, being spun around the dancing lights of the beautiful Italian chandeliers, and staring up at him with fluttering lashes and doe eyes. Urgh.