Cain accompanied his next thrust against her clit with a swipe of his tongue over one fang. Faye trembled beneath him, her heart frantically beating against his chest, her breaths rushing from her lungs, while her pelvis ground against him more urgently now.

He could feel how close she was, just as close as he. Already now, pre-cum was oozing from his cockhead, and in a few seconds, he would spill.

Cain ripped his lips from her and lowered his head to her neck. Inhaling sharply, he could already smell her blood. He put his lips to her pulse, shivering at the gentle vibrations the blood rushing through her vein caused.

“Tell me you still love me, Cain!” she suddenly begged.

As if doused with cold water, he jolted back, releasing her. He couldn’t make such a confession, couldn’t tell her he loved her. He’d met her only hours earlier, knew nothing about her other than that she made his cock harder than it had ever been. She made him want to take her and ride her until they were both boneless. But he was wise enough to know that it wasn’t love that caused his reactions, but lust.

He didn’t know whether he loved her, whether he’d ever loved her. And he couldn’t lie to her about it.

Cain disentangled himself from her and sat back on his haunches.

Faye’s eyes widened as she reared up. “What’s wrong?”

He turned his head away from her, away from the temptation she still presented, and swung his legs out of the bed.

“You have to go. I’m tired from my journey.”

It was an excuse, and they both knew it. But what he couldn’t tell her was that as much as he wanted to make love to her now, he couldn’t. She’d accepted Abel’s proposal. She was still Abel’s woman. He couldn’t trust her affections or her motives. And he didn’t want to be loved by her only because he was king.

Faye scrambled to get off the bed. When he glanced at her, he noticed how her lips were pressed together tightly. She avoided looking at him.

Without a word she turned to the intricate work of art that adorned the wall and pressed the fingers of both hands into different indentations, before stepping back. The wall opened, revealing the passageway behind.

“We’ll talk tonight,” he called after her, but she didn’t reply.

A moment later, the opening was once more hidden by the sculpture and Cain was alone.

16

Abel hated to venture out during daytime, but today he didn’t have a choice. He gunned the engine of his red special edition Ferrari. It was equipped with a UV-impenetrable windshield and windows, thus allowing him to drive during the day when otherwise the sun would have burned him to a crisp.

When he turned off the main road leading south, he slowed the car and adjusted to the bumpy dirt road leading deeper into one of the bayous Louisiana was famous for. He didn’t come here often, but he knew the way nevertheless. Few others did. And he preferred it that way.

Outside a rickety shack deep in the bushes, he parked the car as close as possible to the front entrance. He killed the engine and slipped on his gloves before pulling the hood of his dark sweatshirt over his head and donning a pair of big sunglasses that made him look like one of the Blues Brothers.

Abel opened the door and got out, slamming it behind him while already dashing to the door of the hut. He jerked it open and barreled inside, closing it behind him.

Inside the shack, one light bulb hanging from the ceiling illuminated the small structure which contained only two small rooms: the living and sleeping area with a tiny sink and refrigerator and a small bathroom in the back. The two windows were covered with plywood to prevent any sunlight from penetrating.

Abel looked around, finding the shack to be rather crowded. On the large bed, John’s lover Nicolette was handcuffed to the metal headboard, and at its foot, John sat, his hands tied over his head by a silver chain hanging from a hook in the ceiling, his head dropped to his chest. Residue of blood dirtied his shirt.

Baltimore sat at the wooden table, repeatedly stabbing his knife into the surface, obviously bored with his duty as a prison guard. He acknowledged Abel with a nod.

“Well, well, well,” Abel drawled, and took two steps toward the bed.

John’s head shot up and the woman’s eyes widened. But she didn’t speak, the gag in her mouth preventing her from uttering a word. Abel looked over his shoulder.

“A gag, really?”

“The bitch wouldn’t shut up,” Baltimore complained and drove his knife deeper into the table’s surface than before.

“What the fuck is this about?” John ground out, a murderous look in his eyes.