Bloodwhore

Prologue – Fascination

I like to think of myself as a collector of fine and beautiful objects. Said objects are very rarely female, and generally only have the one hole. So of course, the moment I saw him chained up in the window display, I knew I had to have him.

He was barely over five feet tall, black by way of Ireland, so his naked skin was flawless milk chocolate perfection. His head hung forward and his wiry black hair obscured his face; it brushed the tops of his shoulders.

He was slender, small of waist and hip, with shapely legs and tiny, narrow feet. My eyes swept up his body, noting the way his muscles moved under his skin as his body shuddered. His shoulders slumped forward beautifully, rounding into delicate curves when someone pulled his chains taut, forcing his arms further up his back.

I ran my tongue over the points of my fangs and stared at his limp dick, wishing that I was staring at his ass instead. I wanted to know if he was as small and tight as I thought he would be.

He gave a grunt of pain when the chains tightened further, raising him onto his toes. He flung his head back with the cry, hair whipping over his shoulders; the sound it made across his skin was vaguely obscene.

When his head lowered again, his eyes met mine. My lips automatically curved into an appreciative smile, and if I thought I had to have him earlier, I knew at that moment that I would, because his eyes, as deep and dark as any cavern, were breathtakingly beautiful, framed by thick lashes. His brows were sharp and dramatic, almost feminine, drawn in a sharp slant over those bottomless eyes.

His face was a wide plane of emptiness, of that stillness that takes rabbits and other prey animals when they're trying not to be noticed. I imagined I could smell his fear through the glass, though I knew I couldn't really. I had to step closer to him.

I pressed my palms to the glass of the window, my fingers splayed. The tip of my nose was a hairsbreadth away from touching the cold surface.

A chill wind blew over me, pressed me closer to the glass. My chest touched the surface, and through the thin material of my muscle shirt, the cold reached my body and tightened my nipples. In reality, I think it was the curve of his shoulders, the way he leaned towards me, despite the pain of his position.

I stood there for hours, pressed against the glass. I stared into his eyes and traced the lines of his body with my fingers. I imagined chaining him to a wall and pounding into him until he was raw and screaming my name, begging me to stop and to never stop. I stood there and stared at his fine body, and I wanted to break it before making it mine.

The dawn pressed in against the horizon, a steady pressure against my body and mind. I could taste it on my tongue, the certain death it would bring. But still I stared at him, until I was forced to flee for the safety of my home.

Before turning away from my newest fascination, I offered him a slow, lazy smile.

The sound of his chains loosening and falling into a noisy mess around his feet followed me all the way home.

A/N: I apologize for the brevity of the prologue, but there just wasn't any way for me to draw it out without it starting to sound forced. Besides, the prologue covered the important stuff: the first time T'kali saw Akuji.

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