Read Online My Lady Vampire - Book Three by Sahara Kelly - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sahara Kelly
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for you, he says…”
Katherine nodded sleepily. She’d heard as much from others, but never realized how strong the drug’s effects might be when taken on an empty stomach.
She half-smiled as she slid lower in the bed. “I think I can obey that instruction, Mrs. Tooting.” A yawn creased her face. “Without any difficulty at all…”
“That’s good, dearie. Very good. Time enough to worry about all the other nonsense later.”
Katherine struggled. “What nonsense?”
“All that red-headed curse nonsense. Tales for children, I’ve always said.”
The words meant nothing to Katherine. She was sliding into the shadows of unconsciousness too quickly to retain more than a fleeting impression of some silliness about her hair…
She never heard the clatter of teacups or the removal of her tray. She was asleep before Mrs. Tooting left the room.
- - - -
As the rain settled down over Southern England, getting comfortable and ready for one of those long stays that drove everybody slightly crazy after a few days, St. Chesswell fell silent.
As was their routine, the servants worked quietly around the house, since their master and his son had this odd habit of being up all hours of the night like bats. It was a mixed blessing, since they could do what needed to be done during the day, and were seldom required to be awake at night with the Master, but even so, it was thought by many-- eccentric .
However, nobody complained. The wages were fair, Sir Sidney was held to be a good employer, and St. Chesswell’s had been around so long it was considered quite a coup to be numbered amongst its household. It did wonders for one’s prestige at the pub.
Sidney himself was contentedly snoring amongst his pillows, a book lying half open across his knees. He muttered a little in his sleep, his brain still attempting to solve various puzzles and follow its own train of thought even at this time of rest.
Further down the corridor, in the darkest suite of St. Chesswell, a man lay still on his bed, nary a rise and fall of his chest betraying his presence.
Adrian, too, was sleeping.
But, unlike his father, Adrian was dreaming.
Early in their association, Sidney had warned Adrian that his dreams were probably not going to go away. That whatever had precipitated Adrian’s “condition”--a word they used in preference to his “death”--had manifested itself within Adrian’s subconscious mind as well as his body.
That his state of near-death had heightened his psychic facilities, forged an odd bond between him and his “maker”, and would create dreams real enough to make ordinary men scream and break out in a sweat.
Since Sidney had begun dosing him with the herbs and concoctions from his laboratory, Adrian had known his diagnosis was correct.
His body might be getting better, but his dreams were getting stronger. Almost as if the symptoms and habits he was working to cure while awake found a new outlet in his mind while he was asleep.
Several times he’d awoken to the last fingers of daylight, fangs loosened and ready, hungry to savage and feed on some unsuspecting dream prey. It had all receded as his mind surfaced to reality, but for a while the dream had been all the reality he could handle.
Occasionally, Thérèse visited him, and these were the hardest times of all. In more ways than one.
She knew how to tantalize, to tease, to arouse his hunger and his sexual desire and how to take both to fever pitch, leaving both unfulfilled. Her tongue felt like an insubstantial wraith as it swirled around his cock--yet swirl it did, leaving heat and moisture in its wake.
He would have to watch as she fucked--or was fucked--her sexual ingenuity seemingly endless, and her enjoyment of his discomfort evident. She would take him to the edge, over and over, only to leave him there, hanging. Literally.
Thanks to Sidney’s medications, Adrian could now masturbate his anguish away, exploding into his sheets with violence
Katherine nodded sleepily. She’d heard as much from others, but never realized how strong the drug’s effects might be when taken on an empty stomach.
She half-smiled as she slid lower in the bed. “I think I can obey that instruction, Mrs. Tooting.” A yawn creased her face. “Without any difficulty at all…”
“That’s good, dearie. Very good. Time enough to worry about all the other nonsense later.”
Katherine struggled. “What nonsense?”
“All that red-headed curse nonsense. Tales for children, I’ve always said.”
The words meant nothing to Katherine. She was sliding into the shadows of unconsciousness too quickly to retain more than a fleeting impression of some silliness about her hair…
She never heard the clatter of teacups or the removal of her tray. She was asleep before Mrs. Tooting left the room.
- - - -
As the rain settled down over Southern England, getting comfortable and ready for one of those long stays that drove everybody slightly crazy after a few days, St. Chesswell fell silent.
As was their routine, the servants worked quietly around the house, since their master and his son had this odd habit of being up all hours of the night like bats. It was a mixed blessing, since they could do what needed to be done during the day, and were seldom required to be awake at night with the Master, but even so, it was thought by many-- eccentric .
However, nobody complained. The wages were fair, Sir Sidney was held to be a good employer, and St. Chesswell’s had been around so long it was considered quite a coup to be numbered amongst its household. It did wonders for one’s prestige at the pub.
Sidney himself was contentedly snoring amongst his pillows, a book lying half open across his knees. He muttered a little in his sleep, his brain still attempting to solve various puzzles and follow its own train of thought even at this time of rest.
Further down the corridor, in the darkest suite of St. Chesswell, a man lay still on his bed, nary a rise and fall of his chest betraying his presence.
Adrian, too, was sleeping.
But, unlike his father, Adrian was dreaming.
Early in their association, Sidney had warned Adrian that his dreams were probably not going to go away. That whatever had precipitated Adrian’s “condition”--a word they used in preference to his “death”--had manifested itself within Adrian’s subconscious mind as well as his body.
That his state of near-death had heightened his psychic facilities, forged an odd bond between him and his “maker”, and would create dreams real enough to make ordinary men scream and break out in a sweat.
Since Sidney had begun dosing him with the herbs and concoctions from his laboratory, Adrian had known his diagnosis was correct.
His body might be getting better, but his dreams were getting stronger. Almost as if the symptoms and habits he was working to cure while awake found a new outlet in his mind while he was asleep.
Several times he’d awoken to the last fingers of daylight, fangs loosened and ready, hungry to savage and feed on some unsuspecting dream prey. It had all receded as his mind surfaced to reality, but for a while the dream had been all the reality he could handle.
Occasionally, Thérèse visited him, and these were the hardest times of all. In more ways than one.
She knew how to tantalize, to tease, to arouse his hunger and his sexual desire and how to take both to fever pitch, leaving both unfulfilled. Her tongue felt like an insubstantial wraith as it swirled around his cock--yet swirl it did, leaving heat and moisture in its wake.
He would have to watch as she fucked--or was fucked--her sexual ingenuity seemingly endless, and her enjoyment of his discomfort evident. She would take him to the edge, over and over, only to leave him there, hanging. Literally.
Thanks to Sidney’s medications, Adrian could now masturbate his anguish away, exploding into his sheets with violence
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