Raised to Kill

“Yes, but…where are the musicians?” Allara asked, frowning. “I do not see them anywhere.”

“That’s because they’re not here,” he answered with a soft laugh. “They played the music a long time ago and it was recorded so that anyone who wanted could download it and play it.”

The idea of a Song being kept imprisoned somehow until people wanted to use it was disturbing to Allara. She was about to open her mouth and say so, when Brand started humming along with the music, low and tunefully in her ear.

At once the moun horn sound of his Song began to work on her. His low humming was like a warm hand stroking her skin, touching her everywhere—even under the tight silver wedding dress.

She tried to fight it—tried to fight the effect his Song had on her—but almost at once the battle was lost. With a soft moan, she melted against him, pressing her breasts to his broad chest with abandon.

When he had sung to her at the wedding reception, he had been across the room where she couldn’t touch him or smell his warm, enticing scent. Now she was close—actually in his arms—and the sound of his Song combined with his scent and the closeness of his big body was too much to fight against.

Brand seemed to feel her reaction because he met it with his own. He pressed closer to her and his big, warm hands began to caress her back, stroking up and down in a sensual pattern that left Allara breathless.

She had never been touched like this before—either physically or with Song. To have both at the same time was almost overwhelming. She could feel the tips of her breasts and the spot between her legs tingling again, though she knew it was wrong to react this way to an evil one.

What’s wrong with me? she thought, feeling dizzy with desire. I’m going to lose control if I’m not careful!

Lose control and do what, though? Beg him to tear off her dress and penetrate her?

The thought was still frightening, but less than it had been before. Maybe because she was drugged by her new husband’s scent and his Song.

What’s going to happen to me? she wondered hazily. How can I make myself stab him when all I want to do is press myself against him and let him caress my body with his hands and Song?

Her breath was coming in short pants again and her body was aching for something, though she didn’t know what it needed.

Just at that moment, Brand stopped humming and spoke to her instead.

“You know, sweetheart, this wedding dress is beautiful, but would you like to get out of it and into something more comfortable?” he murmured.

Finally! Some of the sensual lethargy left her and she was able to regain some sense of purpose. She must remember her mission!

“Certainly, I would like to get out of it, husband,” she murmured, lifting her head from his shoulder to look into his golden eyes. “But only you can take it off me.”

“Mmmm…” His eyes were half-lidded in a sleepy, lustful smile. “I like the sound of that,” he growled softly. “Would you like me to take it off you now?”

Allara nodded breathlessly.

“Oh, yes, husband,” she told him. “Please—take it off me.”

“That would be my pleasure, baby.”

Without warning, he swung her up into his arms, making Allara gasp.

“Oh! Where are you taking me?”

“To the bedroom, sweetheart,” he growled. “That’s the best place for this kind of thing.”

Eleven

The big Kindred carried her down a short hallway into a back room with an enormous bed in it. It looked big enough to fit ten people to Allara.

Or just two, if one of them is as big as Brand, whispered a voice in her head.

Brand put her down on the bed and began to examine the silver wedding dress.

“What…what are you doing?” Allara asked breathlessly, as he ran his fingertips down her spine and then looked under both her arms.

“Looking for buttons or a zipper or magno tabs,” Brand muttered. “How in the world do I get you out of this thing?”

“You tear it off.” Allara was surprised he didn’t know this. “It is a sign of your ownership and domination over me,” she added, hoping to explain it to him.

But for some reason, this made Brand frown.

“It’s a beautiful dress,” he objected. “I don’t want to rip it off you like some kind of animal!”

“But you must,” Allara protested. “There is no other way to get it off.”

“I don’t even know where to start…” he shook his head. “This seems like a demeaning position to put you in, sweetheart.”

“Do it, husband—please!” She was desperately afraid that if he didn’t act soon, she would lose her nerve. And then she would never complete her mission. “Please!” she begged again.

“Well, if that’s the way you want it…” Shrugging, he gripped the top part of the dress, the V neckline just under the skora hanging around her neck, and pulled hard.