Storywitch's "Book of Shadows"

Here’s a nice long segment to kick off this vignette, the one I know many of you have been requesting for quite some time! This of course features Mason and Jessica, the cast from Beloved Vampire. And yes, there are some minor spoilers if you haven’t read the book, so beware if that’s something you wish to avoid. :> 

Thanks for your patience, and hope you’ll feel this was worth the wait. As always, I’ll write another segment every two weeks or sooner, if my schedule allows. Don’t know how many parts it’ll be – we’ll see how it progresses, but this one is going to be more involved than the scene between Thomas and Lyssa (wicked grin). This will also be posted at the NEW Fan Forum, which is live now, but will also be mentioned in my newsletter this Thursday, if you’re subcribed.

Anyhow, enjoy, and hope you’re having a wonderful week!

* * * * *

Jessica paused in front of the heavy oak door, studying the wood panels. Any other human would simply see a random pattern in the grain, a variety of textures, rough and smooth. But with her thirdmark, she could take it much further than that. She could see how the wood was smoother, shinier on the area several feet above the ornate doorknob. Where a man, over six feet tall, might put one hand flat to give the door a healthy shove as he turned the knob with the other. Reaching up, she laid her hand over that area, moving it back and forth in a drifting stroke, imagining the heat of his palm pressed there.

She’d been coming here a lot lately. Well, in stages. And only when Mason was traveling on Council business, where he was far enough away he couldn’t tap into her mind and know what she was doing. She hadn’t asked Enrique and Mara, his other servants, to keep it from him, but they seemed to understand that this was her personal battle, and respected her privacy.

Every day he was away from her, he called right before dawn. At his command she was always in his bed, wearing only the covers that bore his scent. He would tell her to touch herself, command her to imagine her touch as his own. Fingers running along her throat, over her mouth, such that her eyes closed, lips parting for him the way all of her body submitted at his merest touch. Then down, trailing over her sternum, moving over to cup a breast. He’d pinch and tease a nipple, ordering her not to move any other muscle of her body as he did it, no matter how restlessly her legs wanted to move, or how she wanted to press her buttocks into the sheets, imagining his body weighting her down, spreading her thighs. The way his long copper hair, unclipped from its usual tie, would trail over her skin like a horse’s mane, his muscles flexing, slipping under her fingers as her nails bit into that hard strength.

He would keep it going until her hand was between her legs and she was glad they had a phone with an earpiece, so her trembling fingers weren’t required to hold the receiver. He would make her stroke herself until she was so close to climax her voice was breaking. Then he would tell her to roll over on her stomach, hands out to either side like wings. He’d have her legs spread wide, so that she felt the barest flutter of the sheet against her wet cunt where the linen pooled in that triangular area between her thighs. He would ask after her day, what she’d been doing. He’d answer her questions about what he’d done with Council. They’d talk about a million important and minor things, murmur things that could only be spoken in the dark. Finally, just as she sensed the dawn light cresting the waves that lapped up on the beach below their South American home, he’d whisper to her to sleep. “Dream of me, habiba, and how much I miss you. How I will touch you when I return, and make you cry out for me.”

She returned to the present, finding her palm now had a light sheen of perspiration on it. She’d learned to be extraordinarily disciplined in her life, so it was amazing, how hard it was to resist the response his merest word could bring forth from her. As the bond had grown between them, that sensual ruthlessness had grown as well. It told her she was evolving, becoming more comfortable with the truth that he’d known from the beginning, that she was a natural submissive, a rare gem in his world. But it also told her he, too, was evolving. Back into the type of Master he’d always been, one that could help her explore that natural submission to the limits of her soul. If she could convince him that not only did she want him to do so, she’d reached the point she needed it.

God, she missed him. It wasn’t so long ago she’d wished him straight to hell, had wanted nothing more than to be left alone by the whole world. She’d fought to survive, and believed surrender was weakness. He’d taught her it could also be strength. But in the process, he’d also made her fall so incredibly in love with him that the same strength turned against her in full force when he was away like this.

She gave herself a mental shake. Okay, time to stop thinking about how crazy he made her and instead focus on this, a way to prove that he didn’t have to leave her behind.

At the beginning, she’d only made it to the door to this wing of the house before she turned back. Fled back, if she wanted to be honest. But it got easier, so then she pushed herself to move through that wing and get to the archway that led to this lower level. It had taken several weeks for her to have the courage to merely stare down that winding set of stairs that curved off into darkness, if she didn’t turn on the wall sconce lights to guide her way.

Then, one day, she made it partway down the staircase, at least to where that first curve was, hiding what was beyond it. On his subsequent trips, she’d come there just to sit on the stair. She’d bring a book to read or some of Mason’s paperwork to do, having taken over most of the administrative needs for his myriad business interests. That spot became her plateau for quite a while. If she lifted her head and stared at that stone wall across from her, trying to coax her eyes to follow it down to the remaining stairs, their twisting descent, she’d feel a similar twisting descent in her feelings and thoughts, one that more often than not sent her scampering back to the safer parts of her world.

Which made her despise herself.

That was why she wasn’t ready to share this with Mason, though she was willing to tell him so many other things. He patently disapproved of anything that made her think less of herself. He’d made it very clear there was nothing she needed to face behind that door in order to be the kind of servant he needed her to be.

She believed him. However, he’d agreed to serve on Council for the next twenty-five years, partially as a nod to the Council’s clemency to her for her “crime” of killing the monster vampire who’d held her captive for five years. It required a lot of meetings, a lot of travel to Council headquarters and other Regions. Interactions with other vampires always meant sexual games with the servants, a gladiator arena for vampires to explore politics as well as pleasure. Because of that, and what she’d endured at Raithe’s hands, Mason refused to take her with him.

With Raithe, vampire gatherings had always held a particular horror for her. But recently, when Lady Lyssa and Daniela had visited with Jacob and Dev, their servants, she’d seen more of what Mara had described, the way such gatherings were supposed to be. For a servant, it could be yet another way to prove loyalty, as well as experience pleasurable surrender to the vampire she called Master. A way to prove she’d step into the fires of her fears and trust that the flame wouldn’t burn, as long as she wore his marks.

After that visit, she’d been sure she could soon take that step to the next level, to Council meetings or gatherings of vampires that weren’t part of his inner circle. However, he could walk through her mind as easily as she walked through his extensive gardens, and he knew she wasn’t there. Five years of brutal trauma didn’t vanish overnight. When he made her face that she wasn’t ready, even though it infuriated her, she couldn’t deny the more-than-lingering signs of it.

Coddling her over it wasn’t going to change that, though. She’d trained herself to fight. Why couldn’t she train herself to overcome those nightmares and fears, separate them from her present reality? All she had to do was figure out the absolute difference between her past and her present, and believe in that truth utterly. So she’d begun to test herself like this, knowing somehow that room and what it contained would provide the test she most needed.

Finally, after several months of work, she’d made it to the door. Behind it was a personal dungeon that had been used—before Jessica’s arrival—to serve Mason and his guests. It was equipped with every possible permutation of BDSM device and tool, things that could drive pain, pleasure, surrender and trust to their absolute limits. Mara had told her provocative stories that made Jessica body warm as she imagined herself there with Mason. Of course, that was the other challenge she faced. If she summoned up enough courage to open that heavy oak door, she had to convince him to take his full pleasure of her there, to prove to him she could move on, that she could be more to him.

She liked the stories Mara told her. But what had kept her on the stairs all those weeks, sometimes trembling and caught in living nightmares of her past, was that those same types of implements had been used time and time again to torture her. Not for her pleasure or surrender, or to win her trust, but to win her screams. To break her, force her acceptance of a fate even a demon straight from the fires of hell might have considered heinous. It was a trauma she couldn’t banish, no matter how much she fiercely wished she could. And the domineering male vampire she loved with all of her soul wouldn’t budge on putting her in situations that he knew would take her back to that horror.

When he visited Council, he took Enrique, the laidback and hot-blooded French-Spaniard who was well suited to the vagaries of Council leisure pursuits. Though he and Mara were married, they’d been part of this life for decades. Mara missed him when he was gone, but she wasn’t constantly pricked by visions of him in the midst of some creatively designed orgy for vampire entertainment. No, instead, she eagerly waited for him to come back to her and tell her about it with dramatic flair, more erotic tales to spur the intensity of their reunion lovemaking. Not that it needed spurring. Jessica wryly thought their private room should be designed to be flame retardant.

She slid down against the door, her back braced on that heavy wood, placing her sneakered feet where she expected Mason’s booted feet had often stood, right before he stepped over the threshold. He’d been alone for a long time, no servant, but even during that time he’d occasionally entertained guests. Probably watched or even participated in the things that happened here. Just like he was probably doing at Council dinners.

Though Mara took such things in stride, Jess couldn’t. It was ridiculous. She knew Mason’s heart. It wasn’t that she doubted him, or thought she’d lose the way he felt for her. He hadn’t wanted to serve on Council. Hell, the man had been a recluse for over 300 years and had even scoffed initially at the idea of a governing body to “civilize vampires”. But now he was right in the thick of it.

She knew that watching her, being with her, was what gave him the deepest physical and emotional pleasure. She knew that not because of any false sense of importance, but because she could feel it. He had his own demons, his own nightmares, and having her close helped him. Sometimes almost as much as it helped her. He insisted he didn’t need her at those Council meetings with him, but she knew it would be far easier for him if she was.

In contrast, he was there for her, always. Even now, if her nightmares took an unexpected spike, or she fell into depression, Mara would call him, despite Jessica’s protests. He’d be on the next plane back, the Council be damned.

So get up and open the freaking door. Closing her eyes, she beat her head in a slow tattoo against the wood, but stilled as she heard feet on the stairs. It was Mara, of course. The woman always knew where to find her when Mason was gone. Either in his office, with the horses, on the beach, or sometimes, on the bad days, curled up in his bed, pathetically inhaling his scent. Jess spoke to the sound of those tapping slippers coming her way.

“If he doesn’t come home soon, I’m going put on his most expensive, most favorite shirt, and wear it to muck out the stalls. Then I’ll put it back in his closet with all his other clothes and let the odor of horse manure hit him smack in the face when he opens it.”

Mara chuckled, the musical resonance of her voice soothing or stimulating, depending on how she used it. She came into view, wearing one of her partially translucent gypsy skirts, a deep purple color with tiny bells at the low waistline, and a snug dancer’s top, telling Jessica she’d been practicing her intricate belly dancing moves. “And who do you think he’d make do all that laundry?” the woman asked with a gleam in her dark eyes. “Probably make you do it the old fashioned way, too, on a wash board over a steaming hot tub. Naked.”

She sat down next to Jessica, her lovely backside sliding gracefully to the floor so the point of her hip pressed with affectionate intimacy against hers. “You made it to the door.”

They hadn’t asked her much about this battle of hers or stated their opinion of it one way another. However, she already knew Mara and Enrique had almost psychic intuition. It was an attribute she’d come to appreciate, because it saved having to explain things. For the first time, though, Mara let that simple statement convey an encouragement that warmed Jessica. She understood what Jess was trying to do and, what’s more, approved of it.

“I don’t want him off without me, doing this kind of thing,” Jess said. “It makes me crazy, imagining him watching other Council servants do whatever outrageous things the Council wants them to do, and him sitting there, all alone and removed from it. Or just as bad, I see two or three of them crawling across the floor to his legs, sliding their hands up his thighs, maybe one of them plopping her obscenely perfect ass in his lap…” She blew out a breath at Mara’s amused look. “And it’s not jealousy, not exactly. I just…”

“He’s yours. Your Master to serve, not another servant’s duty.”

Jessica nodded, relieved to hear it voiced so accurately. “But you’re his servant, and you don’t get all that worked up about it.”

“Because it’s not the same for me and Enrique. Mason takes his pleasure with us, yes, uses us for blood, but our bond is affection, regard, service. It is far different with you. He is consumed by you, and you by him.” Mara nudged her. “I would say love, but of course that’s the most heinous of four-letter words to vampire kind. It’s all right for him to whisper it to you in the night’s darkness, but not to speak it aloud.” She gave Jess a searching look, sobering. “Would you really want to be there, to see all of that going on?”

“At least I’d have the opportunity to be at the forefront of it. And I know him. He’d be watching them, sending me thoughts in that sexy mind-whisper of his. ‘This is what I want to do to you later’. Or, if I’m in the thick of it”—she swallowed, refusing to let the cold fear take over at the thought, and instead focused on her imaginings—“he’d be saying ‘pretend it’s me, touching you like this, holding you.’ Anything is better than being home where I’m going insane over it, over him being gone.”

Despite Mara’s teasing, Mason never concealed his feelings for her here. He’d told Jess he loved her, often and well, in various, immutable ways. She was just as bad, though since she was a ‘lowly human’, it was okay for her to be besotted. However sometimes it made her laugh at herself. She was like a lovesick teenager, wearing one of his shirts when he was gone. It made her think again of what she’d threatened to do with one of those garments, and Mara’s idea about his punishment. She could see it, her muscles straining as she ran the shirt over the washboard, her breasts glistening with creamy rivulets of soap and glistening perspiration. He’d come up behind her to slide his hands over those slick curves, pressing his body up against her. Whispering that she would continue scrubbing as he unfastened his snug riding breeches and plunged into her, working her body as she lost her rhythm, grasped the board for dear life and gasped her pleasure.

They were getting to the point she could actually believe he would mete out such a sensual punishment. And she would welcome it, enough to dare such a defiant act.

That was the key to turning that doorknob. How would it be any different, in this room behind her? It wouldn’t. If he restrained her to a St. Andrew’s cross in this room, or bent her over a spanking bench, it would be him doing it, the fascinating, powerful male vampire who loved her and protected her even from his own kind. Who she trusted not to be Raithe, to prove to her that all vampire gatherings were not like what she’d endured with him. She could do this, she was ready for it.

In her ruminations and Mara’s words, she realized what really bothered her the most of all. The real matter was trust. In order for him to believe he could take her with him, he had to believe she trusted him. That she could handle anything they threw at them, because she loved him and loved serving him. That anything that gave him pleasure would give her pleasure, and anything that didn’t give him pleasure, she knew he wouldn’t permit. In order to fully be her Master, he had to know she fully trusted him.

She took a deep breath, quietly amazed with what seemed so obvious now. It was a gift only she could give him, the male who seemed to have everything. But registering Mara’s expectant look, she struggled to focus. “You came down to tell me something.”

“Yes. Enrique will be home in a few hours.”

Jessica knew her face lit up like a Christmas tree, because Mara’s reflected it. The woman was as excited as she was about the return of their men. “And Mason?” She seized Mara’s hand, squeezed them so the bones creaked. The woman laughed, returning the favor. “Mason is coming on a flight a few hours’ later, because he had to do some last minute shopping. Probably gifts for you, as well as some small token for me.” Her gaze gleamed. “Which, given our different tastes, means a silver belt with cut gems for one of my dance costumes, and a set of rusty horseshoes from a junk store for you.”

“Hey, not my fault that I’m the cheaper date.”

Mara snorted, a delicate sound for her. It reminded Jess of Hasna, Mason’s dainty white Arabian mare. “Well, if you’re planning to invoke his wrath with your manure-scented shirt scheme, you have about 12 hours to execute it. He’ll also be within range of your mind by about midnight.”

The thrill of that, of knowing he’d be home that soon and yet that far away now, both thrilled and made Jess burn with impatience, a sensation that affected every part of her. Her skin heated at the idea of his hands on it, everywhere. Not just because of how he kept her stirred with his calls, but because the moment Mason came into the house, he always made it very clear that he’d missed her.

The first time, he’d cleared the kitchen with barely a look, the kitchen staff scrambling to make themselves absent as Mason lifted her without preamble and took her down on her back on the butcher block table. He’d possessed her with an animal hunger that could arouse her just in remembrance. Almost a rebranding of her soul, a reminder of what those three marks meant. Bound together, for all eternity.

Despite the blazing heat such imaginings brought her, she managed a smile for Mara. But then an idea struck her. She had to convince him that she could handle the type of punishments that existed behind this door, right? That not only did she trust him to take the gloves off, but that she wanted him to do so.

He kept a leash on his dominant male vampire nature around her, but she’d been feeling the strain on that tether, more and more. She wanted to snap it. However, as she imagined what provocation might accomplish that, it was far more than a manure-scented shirt. He was stubbornly protective of her, but more than that, he was possessive. And that, too, was a key to what she wanted. A key that might galvanize that vampire nature to full, terrifying dominance over her, no turning back. It gave her a shiver, one that she was absolutely, thrillingly convinced was not all fear.

“Mara, what’s the one thing Mason expressly forbids me to do while he’s gone? Other than endanger myself in any way, which in his mind even includes using butter knives?”

The woman laughed, but then considered, studying Jess as if she could already tell she was up to some kind of mischief. Her eyes sparkled. “There are several things. You cannot make yourself climax. You and I cannot play with one another and instigate a climax, nor can Enrique, when he is here with us. It makes all of us quite eager to see him arrive, the scoundrel. And most importantly, he is quite adamant that no man touches you at all while he’s gone. Not if that man wants to live.”

“Hmm.” Jessica shifted onto her knees to face the other woman. She continued to hold Mara’s hands as she looked up at that door, the wood worn down by the placement of Mason’s strong hand. Cocking her head, Jess considered her fellow thirdmarked servant.

“Do you and Enrique feel like living dangerously?”

This entry was posted on Wednesday, April 14th, 2010 at 10:35 am and is filed under General. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.