Chapter 8

Angel stood in front of the sink, staring into a mirror that didn't reflect her image back at her. Sometimes being undead sucked, and she didn't mean literally. She reached out, twisting the cold water on and splashing some in her face, using her wet hands to smooth down the hair that her time with Kendra had tangled.

"Damn," she snarled, turning off the water and grabbing a towel. Pacing the floor, her mind flashed to the last time she'd seen Dorian Amante.

"I've brought you dinner, sweet," Dorian called, throwing open the door to their suite, in his arms two ten year old twin boys. "Come, they aren't quite ripe, but their youth is intoxicating."

Angel rose languidly from the window seat where she'd been watching the night go by, feeling the throbbing pulse of a New York City night life rushing like heated blood under the neon lights. "Dorian," she chuckled, running her finger over one of the twin's blonde hair. "You are such a prankster. Take them back to their mother."

"I would, my love. Alas, she was my dinner." He sat one of the boys down, smiling as the boy slid to sit at his feet, his eyes dazed and dead looking. Winking at the other boy, he hooked his hand behind Angel's neck, dragging her close, his tongue slicking over her lips before he melded his lips to hers.

She tasted his passion and the blood that he'd drained from his kill earlier. They'd argued earlier about that, as always, his habit of killing his prey instead of taking just enough to sustain their own lives. Dorian finally left her, slamming out of the door, leaving her wondering if she'd see him again.

He held a power over her that she hated, one that she feared. It was in his eyes, the almost black depths of them. He was tall and leanly muscled, his hair as dark as his eyes. He had the pale skin of all the Old Ones, as well as their knowledge and their powers. Her father held his in check, stressing what could happen if the addiction was fed.

Dorian reveled in his and the danger of that had held her enthralled as much as his exotic looks. His voice held just a hint of an Eastern accent. She'd watched women listen to him talk, smiling as he captured their interest with just a word. He'd done the same to her, coming up behind her, whispering his name into her ear.

A small groan escaped his lips. "You're thinking again, Angel. How many times have I told you how dangerous that is? You should act, not think." He sat the other boy down, letting her loose as well. "If you don't wish a snack you have but to say, love. I'll send these two off. They have a father somewhere, I'm sure."

"You can't just send them out into a New York night, Dorian. She lifted her hand and touched his cheek. Gazing into those black eyes, she blinked her own almost innocent blue eyes. "Put them somewhere safe, please?"

Dorian sighed, dragging his hand through his elegantly mussed hair. "For you," he said softly. "Come boys, there was a maid two floors down. I shall release them on the elevator. When the doors open, they'll regain their faculties, love. But," he took her chin between his fingers, holding her face up to his, "you'll pay for it."

"I can hardly wait," Angel sighed. Her smile made him growl and dip his head to taste her mouth once more.

"I want you in our bed," he demanded when he lifted his head. "We shall play a new game tonight."

Angel smiled again, playing with the tie at the neckline of her red gown. "I can hardly wait. Go, take them to the maid. Hurry back to me."

He picked up the boys, leaving with as much aplomb as when he'd arrived. Angel strolled into their bedroom, untying the tie that held her silk gown closed. Dropping her arms, the silk slid over her smooth skin, catching for an instant on her nipples, the sensual feel of the silk skimming across them making them hard and aching.

Her hands followed the journey of the gown, skimming over her breasts, smoothing over her slender waist and slim hips. She brushed her fingers over the soft white blond curls on her mound as she stepped out of the pooled red material, climbing the two steps up to the wide platform bed. Kneeling in the center, she reached out for the thin shawl that she'd draped earlier over the bed.

With a casual shrug, she threw the softness of the material over her body, letting it drape naturally along her curves, the wide weave showing more than it concealed of her pale skin. She settled against the softness of the pillows, staring over at the wide balcony doors. With a negligent wave of her hands, she willed the doors to open, feeling the pull of the powers that made her wish to use more.

"I saw that," Dorian said from the doorway.

"It was just a little thing," Angel said hurriedly, wondering why she felt so defensive about it.

"But what would your father say," he chuckled, enjoying her reaction. Her guilt was just another part of her that fed his senses so well, better than any paramour he'd had in the centuries of his life.

"He would say that I've been tainted by you, that I've forgotten all that he'd taught me. He'd be right." She rose to her knees. "I should hate you for showing me these powers, for making me know the pull of them, the pleasure that there is in using."

"But you don't," Dorian said, stating the obvious. He ran his fingers through the long trailing ends of the shawl, his fingers stroking over her thighs and sending a shiver of longing through her. "You couldn't hate me, you never will be able to."

"You sound certain of that," she said, her voice grown husky with the sensual thrill his presence always brought her.

He pulled on the shawl, slowly stripping it off of her, his eyes taking in every part of her body that he bared. "I am certain," he said roughly. "Just as I am certain that you are the only one for me." Dropping the material to the ground, he ran his hands down her neck, pushing the thick lengths of her white blonde hair off of her shoulders. "Have you eaten?"

Angel barely heard his question, wrapped up in the feeling of his hands, the softness of his palms as he caressed her. He was infinitely gentle with her, lifting and cupping her breasts, bending to find the brown tips with his mouth. He kissed each pebbled nipple before lifting his head, his brow rising in question. "Have you?"

"Yes," she moaned. "I grew tired of waiting for your return."

Dorian drew her off the bed, his eyes admiring her graceful movements and the long length of her legs. He slipped behind her, brushing her long hair over one shoulder and nibbling gently along the tendon of her neck. "You couldn't have gone out," he said, his tongue rasping roughly against her skin. "Who did you eat?"

Angel bent her head, baring her neck submissively. "I called down and had a waiter come up to bring me ice."

"Very resourceful," he teased, his hands slipping under her arms to pull her back against him. "He didn't give you any problems?"

"I'm capable of feeding myself, Dorian. I know our ways better then you." Angel pulled away from him, walking out the balcony doors. They were high over the lights of the city, a view of the harbor easily seen from the windows. Leaning over the railing, she gazed far down below where the city life raced along.

She heard him come out after her, felt him behind her. His voice was in her ear, apologetically sweet. "I meant nothing of it, I just wanted to be sure you were cared for, my Angel. You know that. I would tear off my own arm before hurting you."

"I know. Dorian, I do know. What I don't know or understand is what is wrong with me? I feel such ... discontent."

"With me?" he asked, grasping her upper arms and pulling her back against his much bigger body. "You are ... tired of me?"

"No," she said quickly, glancing over her shoulder and up into his dark eyes. "Not with you, Dorian, but with this life. We aren't living, not really. I accomplish nothing." She shrugged her bare shoulders, lifting her hands. "Perhaps it is time to move on."

"You love New York City in the spring." Dorian gently pushed her closer to the thick cement rail that surrounded their balcony, holding her against it. "You've always wanted to be here when the new fashions arrive from Paris."

Angel sighed unhappily, knowing she'd never be able to tell him. She felt empty, used up with the sameness of their nights. It wasn't just boredom, she could combat boredom, it was a trait you learned when you'd been alive as long as she had. This was something deeper, something more elemental. "Forget I spoke, my love. I don't know what is wrong with me tonight.

The coldness of the railing was nothing against her icy skin for only when she fed did she ever feel the warmth of true life. But her kind didn't take notice of such things. It was what they were used to. Anything else would feel foreign.

"Look over there," he whispered in her ear. "Do you see him?"

Angel followed his gaze, staring down and across at another building. A man stood in the window, his eye pressed to a telescope which was pointed ... at them. "He's peeking," she said.

"We should give him something worthy of looking at, don't you think?"

Angel brought her hands up to her breasts, cupping them and kneading the supple flesh. She pulled on her nipples, twisting them, her head falling back to rest against his chest, even as she kept their peeping tom within sight. "I believe he likes my breasts."

Dorian smiled against her hair. Running his hands over them, he pinched her nipples hard enough to send a shivery pain through her. "I like your breasts," he growled, baring his fangs. "Put your hands on the railing," he ordered.

Angel did, moaning as he slid one hand down over her stomach and between her thighs. She was already wet, her arousal coating his finger as he slid it deep inside of her. Her back arched, her hips pressing backwards and against him. Her arms rose, reaching over her shoulders to find him behind her, wanting to turn, to have him fill her with his cock, to slam into her while she felt the eyes of the other watching their every move.

But Dorian held her still, always with his own agenda, no matter how desperately she craved him. "Shall I have him come over here, my love? He could play with us a bit. You know how I always wish a snack after we love."

"You first," she moaned. "Take me here while he watches and wishes he were you."

"You think he wants you," Dorian said, his lips moving over her neck, his teeth teasing her with tiny nips of pain that had her mewling and unconsciously pressing against him. "Perhaps it's me he wants?"

Her laugh rose upon the air, wafting away as she glanced behind her at him. "Maybe he does, shall we see which he prefers?"

Angel turned quickly, forcing Dorian back with a rare burst of her vampiric strength. Before he could change their positions, she'd tugged the white silk shirt he wore open, sliding it over his shoulders, letting it fall from the balcony railing to flutter in the breeze.

"You owe me a shirt," he said, raising his eyebrow at her.

"You have hundreds," she growled, her fingers sliding over the pale beauty of his smooth chest, enjoying the texture of his skin, the hardness of his physique. Slowly dropping to her knees in front of him, she peeked through the railing, smiling as she saw that the man was still there, though now one of his hands was against the front of his pants, rubbing slowly. "You may be right. He may want you more than me."

Dorian didn't even bother to look. His hand buried in the softness of her hair. "Don't stop now," he rasped.

A sly smile touched her lips and she reached up, unbuckling the thin black belt her wore and pulling it from his pants. Rising, she freed her hair from his hand, grasping his wrist. Making a loop in the leather, she put it over his hand before stepping behind him.

"What are you playing at, sweet?" Dorian laughed. His other wrist was put through the loop and the leather wrapped around it until she could secure him tightly.

"You always stop me too soon," she said, looking up at him from beneath her thick lashes. "This time, you'll keep your hands to yourself." She dropped once more to her knees before him, her hands sliding down across his chest, her nails leaving tiny red trails on his smooth pale skin. Reaching the button to his pants, she leaned forward, taking it in her sharp white teeth and biting down.

It popped off and into her mouth. She let it fall onto the balcony, laughing as he gaped at her. "Your wardrobe will survive, Dorian. I sometimes think you are more of a clothes horse than I." Nuzzling her nose against his stomach, she licked a trail from just below his navel to where his pants were held up by the tenacity of the zipper. "I'm worth more to you than a pair of pants and a shirt, aren't I?"