Vampire trinity.

by Joey W. Hill.

Acknowledgments.

I'm always grateful for the insights of my editor, Wendy McCurdy, and my critique partners Sheri Fogarty, Ann Jacobs and Denise Rossetti, but they deserve special thanks this time. Gideon, Daegan and Anwyn's story started out as one long book, but it needed to be two in order for their relationship to evolve the way it should. Though my faithful readers know this isn't the first time that has happened to me, sometimes an author can't see the forest for the trees. I couldn't have figured out how to make it into two fulfilling stories without the help, guidance and encouragement of Wendy, Sheri, Ann and Denise.

I also send thanks to Susan Allison, who made the executive decision to allow it to be two books. Your support of my work is a continued joy. Finally, a particular thanks to Ann Jacobs, who was the one who saw that the menage relationship needed to have two distinct phases of development, and therefore allowed me to devote more time and richness to the way these three fell in love.

I hope the readers will love them as well, but if there are any shortcomings in either book, that responsibility is all mine, as always.

Last, but not least, thanks to Rachel for "G.o.d's roadmap"; for the guidance it provided to Gideon, Daegan and Anwyn, and for the validation it provided to me.

Prologue.

"INSATIABLE,"one of her favorite songs, was weaving its magic through I the shadows and flashing lights of Club Atlantis. Bodies moved in sinuous silhouette on the dance floor to that sensual underbeat, somewhere between slow and fast. Her attuned senses detected a variety of things. Perfumes and colognes, the musk of arousal and perspiration. Provocative laughter, the rush of a hundred different conversations and stories. Club Atlantis was a cauldron of life tonight, the s.e.xual heat rising by the moment.

The sharp snap of a whip. A cry of pain, mixed with l.u.s.t. She c.o.c.ked her head. Someone was using a single tail in the public play area. Someone closer, probably along Pleasure Alley, was caning their slave, that sharp, brief slice through the air that most wouldn't hear, lost in the dance music or other crowd noise.

But she heard it. This was a dream, and in dreams the senses detected whatever the dream demanded. However, even if she really stood in Atlantis right now, she would hear, smell and see everything as acutely. The aromas, the variations of light and shadow, even the currents of air, stirred by the movement of bodies dancing, writhing, f.u.c.king or kneeling, would swirl along her skin and leave invisible imprints like intricate tattoos.

In dream or reality, she could experience all those things now, because she was a vampire.

In this dream, however, she was still her human self. It was one of her favorite dreams, and it had been coming more frequently of late. It was five years ago, the night she met Daegan Rei. Did a moth know that the flame was going to change her life forever, or did she simply fly toward that heated embrace, knowing it would offer her something she couldn't give herself?

In the end, the answer didn't really matter. The moth had never wanted the choice.

Making her rounds through Club Atlantis on a busy night gave her a deep, abiding pleasure. Feeling the energy spun by all the people here, come to satisfy their craving to Dominate or be Dominated, knowing that she'd contributed to almost every detail of the setting and atmosphere for that experience-there was nothing like it. As she moved through the club, she watched faces, emotions, body language. She'd zero in on anything that wasn't quite right, someone who wasn't getting the experience they desired. She worked the floor, providing guidance where needed, a warm word, a subtle suggestion, a light touch to direct attention in the right place.

A Mistress herself, she was aware of the gazes of unattached submissives following her, hoping she might choose one of them for a session, as she sometimes did. She also felt the speculative glances of Masters and Mistresses who'd like the chance to share a sub together, learn from each other's techniques.

The desire to maximize a customer's experience wasn't about money, though Club Atlantis's success spoke for itself. She understood what each unique soul sought here, and whether she could provide it. It was a skill she loved having. Her heart beat inside Atlantis, because it was who she was, what she wanted.

At times, in her bed at the end of an evening, she'd feel that heartbeat slow, and a yearning would settle into her, to find what others found within her walls. She knew her needs were more complex than most Mistresses. She wanted someone to belong to her, to be her slave exclusively, his heart, soul and mind willingly surrendered. However, there was an additional, vital component to her need as well, one that seemed beyond her power to describe. When it at last stood before her, in whatever manifestation met her deepest desires, she knew she would understand it.

That night, her intuition and her yearning clasped hands and gave her that miracle. A gift and curse at once, as Fate often was.

She drifted along the eastern wing of the club, with its wide platform view of the bar, the dance area and one of the public play areas that was crafted like a metal undersea world. Cages were designed as a coral reef, submissives bound there with restraints like seaweed. The St. Andrew's crosses were weathered driftwood and embedded in the side of a partial shipwreck. More slaves were bound upon them. Gold pieces of treasure were scattered over the sandy ground and caught the flickering torchlight. Over the darker area of the shipwreck, a shadow lamp made it look as if schools of colorful fish, sharks and manta rays were pa.s.sing over the mostly naked bodies restrained there.

The center feature of that public play area was a large water tank. A staff submissive was on display, her long hair floating free, her upper body bare except for ropes that created a shibari-style harness. It bound her wrists beneath her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Her lower body was wrapped with tight latex to form a jeweled and slick mermaid's tail. A waterproof vibrator was inside her, and the control was on the outside of the tank, where guests could adjust the speeds, and watch her flounder and writhe like a graceful fish at the stimulation in the tank's confined s.p.a.ce.

Since she of course didn't have the gills of a mermaid, she had a close-fitting, discreet oxygen mouthpiece beneath the jeweled mask she wore, the tank disguised behind the water ferns. In addition to that precaution, a Dom in a dark wet suit watched over her. He'd "caught" her and bound her in the harness, an intricate underwater rope performance, and now added to the torment the patrons were administering by touching her as he pleased, occasionally bringing her up to his mouth and giving her air in place of the mask.

It was a complex scene, but both were well trained. They also were husband and wife. The team of John and Tori had become a favorite attraction.

She moved onward, past the dance floor, and then to the mezzanine, where she could get a different view of the floor and the bar. While many BDSM clubs didn't permit alcohol, she knew it helped relax and stimulate. Plus, she had a large clientele who came to dance and be entertained merely as voyeurs. Those going to the underground level for rougher play knew that they would be required to take a Breathalyzer test. They had to prove they were sober enough for safe play in private. Knowing that, the patrons regulated themselves. And in the public areas, she had more well-trained staff that blended and kept things in line.

Her snug skirt hugged her hips, her stilettos placed precisely as she moved along the mezzanine. She was aware of the way her body moved, from the quiver of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s to the swing of her hips, the brush of her thighs as she tightened those muscles to walk sure and upright on the heels. James, her head of security, followed. They usually did these rounds together, because she gave him insight on who might need extra attention from his people. Being very good at what he did, he usually identified those trouble spots at the same time. But exactly because he was good, he wanted the additional set of eyes, the viewpoint of what he might miss.

So far, tonight's crowd was a good one. Of course, Atlantis didn't allow just anyone in their doors. Even a guest pa.s.s required thirty minutes with a staff person, discussing the rules of Atlantis. Anyone who gave off warning signals, or appeared to be paying lip service to those rules, didn't make it past the lobby. The vetting for the underground level was even more stringent.

She paused at the rail, scanning. Even as she a.s.sessed, she enjoyed as well. Watching the give-and-take between power and surrender. Whispering hands, bodies straining and needy. A slave's eyes glazed in l.u.s.t, the Master's expression deep in the zone, registering every nuance of a submissive's reaction. Once stepping over the threshold of Atlantis, the sh.e.l.l was left behind. This was the sanctuary for the Freudian id, the primitive impulses and needs of the soul.

Impressions like those came at her in varying waves of heat, and she rode those currents like a shadow dolphin in the undersea exhibit, her attention wandering over the floor.

Then she felt something extraordinarily different. Turning her head with unerring instinct toward the source, she saw a man leaning against the bar.

Though he was all the way across the main floor, he locked gazes with her. In that brief second, he caught her breath, took it away from her with all the power of a black-and-white movie, though she couldn't explain why or how it happened. She'd been a Dominant all her life, recognizing it quickly after reaching s.e.xual maturity. It was something she didn't doubt in herself, in her blood. Yet this male was no submissive.

In fact, he was pure, 100 percent Dominant in all aspects of his life. He would possess the woman he chose, body, heart and soul. Such a woman would have to be as strong as he was to hold her own and demand his soul in return. He would be satisfied with nothing less. He was looking for an equal, a Mistress. A unique, complex Mistress who would surrender to him and him alone, time and again, because it would simply be that way between them.

While all sizes and shapes of people came in here, she'd seen her share of devastatingly handsome men, both Masters and subs. With his dark eyes, close-cropped hair and powerfully built body, this one certainly had no trouble catching female attention. But she was barely aware of anything about him except his eyes in that vital first-impression moment. A moment that lengthened into a cycle of accelerating heartbeats as he straightened, left his drink and came toward her.

She was aware of every inch of her skin under his gaze. That heartbeat that slowed in the quiet hours, when Atlantis's lights shut off, was pounding as rapidly as the rock beat on the dance floor.

He was inevitable, the most devastatingly s.e.xy word she'd ever applied to a man. When he stopped before her, the first words he spoke made it clear he understood it as much as she did. It wasn't a pickup line. The three words were command, intention and destiny, all at once.

"I want you."

That yearning she felt in the small hours of the morning, the answer was this man. When the third point of the triangle came, the one who would be her slave, who would surrender and utterly belong to her, she was certain that yearning would become something even sweeter, sharper, even more impossible to describe. Fulfillment, a three-point star so powerful its light would explode inside her, bringing unimaginable emotional and physical pleasure.

Of course, on the reality of that night, she hadn't had that clarity, but in the drifting fantasy of her dream, she knew it as truth, her desires meeting her memories.

She'd taken him to the Rose Room. It was remarkable that she'd chosen that room that night. Wall-to-floor-to-ceiling mirrors, the only prop a pedestal in the center with a vase of bloodred roses, a trail of petals scattered across the reflective floor.

He'd glanced into the room, a warrior's caution, but it hadn't given him pause. She'd barely crossed the threshold when his arms closed around her. She turned in that embrace, let out a small shudder of desire as he lifted her up against the wall and tore the side of her snug skirt all the way to the hip. She hadn't worn any panties under it, because of the tightness of the garment and because she liked to feel her thighs compressing her l.a.b.i.a as she walked, that pleasurable friction of skin on skin.

There were inviolate rules about protection, safety, boundaries. She knew there would be none of that between them. When he lowered his hand to touch her, she arched with a moan. Finding her c.u.n.t, he pushed two fingers into soaking wet heat that clamped down on him, a shuddering spasm of response.

He freed himself from his jeans. She dug her fingers into his shoulders as he gripped her hips, pushed forward and pinned her deep and hard. He dove deep, to the hilt, and a sound between a breath, a moan and a cry wrenched from her throat. She refused to close her eyes, wanting him to see, to know that she did all of this willingly. That she was giving him control, not surrendering it.

His lips curled back from sharp fangs, a crimson flicker going through the dark eyes. The pupils were expanding, taking over the whites, those traces of h.e.l.lfire threading through them. As he pressed her up against the smooth mirror, she realized she couldn't see him in any of the hundreds of reflections. It was just her, and yet she'd never felt more . . . not alone. His hand wrapped in her hair and exposed her throat. Crimson became flame in those wholly dark eyes, and then his fangs were there, sinking deep, just like his c.o.c.k. Sensation exploded through every nerve ending, starting where they were joined.

That was all it took. She came hard on him, her fluids gushing over his thick length, her body wracked by convulsions as the pleasure gripped her in relentless hands, like his. He was still moving inside her, thrusting with brutal purpose, his mouth taking blood from her throat.

There was no opportunity or desire for games, no sense that she needed to prove to him that she was a Mistress, used to holding the reins. He knew all of it, knew all of her. It was frightening and thrilling at once. Handling him would be the challenge of her life.

She had no knowledge of paranormal beings, hadn't really given them any thought, but she accepted who and what he was as if she'd always known. Her heart had been waiting for a vampire.

As Anwyn slowly surfaced from the dream, her thighs were trembling, damp, telling her that she'd climaxed. Reaching behind her, she slid her hand down Gideon's rib cage and over the curve of his bare b.u.t.tock, his thigh tucked up beneath hers. Listened to his even breathing. The third member of their uncertain triangle, he'd come five years later, to her present, whereas Daegan was currently absent, a hole in her heart she was glad she had Gideon to a.s.suage.

He cinched his arm around her waist more securely, pressed his face in her hair, reminding her he was there, his heat and strength behind her. While she liked the tactile reminder, she didn't need to have it to feel his presence. Ever since she'd third-marked him, he was in her very soul, and she wanted him there. At a moment like this, she almost felt balanced, for Daegan's presence from the dream was still so close it felt as if he were in front of her, Gideon behind.

She'd hold on to the peace the temporary illusion gave her in sleeping hours, because peace was a far more rare commodity when she faced the reality of what she'd become. A vampire, turned against her will, infected by a schizophrenic sire with unpredictable seizures and dangerous surges of bloodl.u.s.t. A vampire who might never have full control of her life again, who was dependent on a vampire hunter who'd become her third-marked servant by accident, and a powerful vampire she blamed for not being there when she'd needed him.

At least when she met Daegan in her dreams, she didn't carry the burden of his betrayal. The thousand small angers that had culminated in his leaving. In her dreams, she was allowed to simply miss him, and wish he'd come back. The insidious shadow creatures in her brain that sometimes followed her into her dreams had no power when he was there, which made his presence all the more welcome.

Every waking moment required her to accept her deepest fear. Her control, cultivated carefully over a lifetime, could now be scattered like bowling pins. The schizophrenic mood shifts brought rages, delusions and hungers. They swamped her systems and turned her into a force of destruction. Such episodes could come at any time. Some days it was every few hours. Occasionally she had the peace of a full day without one.

The fledgling bloodl.u.s.t was a whole different ballgame from the seizures. The seizures were a physical ravagement of her systems, a mind-shrieking session of crazy, murderous madness. With bloodl.u.s.t, she would would have what she wanted, and anything that stood in her way was fair game. Now that Gideon was a third-mark servant, she had less fear of harming him irreparably, but she was grateful she'd fallen in with a male who'd lived so much of his life as a warrior. In her sensible moments, she was able to appreciate the complex ch.o.r.eography of defense and offense strategies that came so naturally to him. When Daegan was here, they'd coordinated their movements to help distract or restrain her, antic.i.p.ate which direction her violence would strike and contain it before it happened. have what she wanted, and anything that stood in her way was fair game. Now that Gideon was a third-mark servant, she had less fear of harming him irreparably, but she was grateful she'd fallen in with a male who'd lived so much of his life as a warrior. In her sensible moments, she was able to appreciate the complex ch.o.r.eography of defense and offense strategies that came so naturally to him. When Daegan was here, they'd coordinated their movements to help distract or restrain her, antic.i.p.ate which direction her violence would strike and contain it before it happened.

I want you, no matter what you are. I always will. Never doubt it.

Daegan had said those words to her before he left. She remembered the touch of his long-fingered, large hands, the sensual, firm mouth. The unending strength of his body, surging into hers. She remembered his many expressions, the dangerous smile that always felt like a special gift for her. He hadn't smiled much, the days before he'd left, but there'd been less cause, for all of them.

In his absence, with Gideon here, she'd realized she didn't want to have it back the way it was. She wanted something better for them, for all three of them. Gideon was the missing piece that could make it work, mingling the past, present and future in a way that gave her hope in her dreams.

Unfortunately, Gideon was resolved that he was merely a temporary measure until she found a "real" servant. In fact, that resolve had grown steadily stronger. Since she had full access to his mind, there was no hiding from the harsh truth. The vampire hunter, who had become more dedicated and intuitive to her well-being every day for the past month, had no intention of being any vampire's permanent servant.

Ever.

One month earlier.

DAEGAN had explained it was vital he get to the Council, that he was past due to report to them face-to-face on the events of the past couple of weeks. She understood that logically, but once Brian arrived, Daegan took his leave almost as soon as he discussed her condition with the vampire scientist and ensured he understood the role Daegan needed him to fill. Use his scientific skills to determine if there were ways to get the debilitating seizures and convulsions that didn't fit with a normal vampire transition under control, and use his strength as a vampire to help Gideon when she had those seizures, so she didn't cause harm to anyone, including herself.

Giving her and Gideon another look, Daegan had turned back to Brian. "Until I return, until this is managed, the relationship she has with her servant is exclusive."

"d.a.m.n right about that," Gideon muttered.

Brian's brow lifted, his gaze cutting to Gideon and then coming back. "Not my type," he noted dryly, with a hint of a smile at Gideon's scowl. "But I understand."

Before she could catch up on all the undercurrents in that exchange, Daegan put his large hands on her shoulders and gave her that look that said not to cross him on what he was about to say. It immediately stiffened her spine.

"Lord Brian is in charge until my return. Period. Follow his direction as you would follow mine." A grimness tightened his jaw at the look in her eye. "Perhaps better than that. I trust him and he is here to help you. All right, cher cher? If I have lost your trust, trust at least that this man can make things better for you, if you will let him."

He said it flatly, no inflection, but it sent a shard of gla.s.s through her heart anyway. She'd managed a nod, and because she knew he'd be gone in a few moments, she reached up, framed his face, her thumbs pa.s.sing over his lips. Don't leave me, don't leave me. Don't leave me, don't leave me.

Soon after she'd been turned, he'd taken her blood as a sire would, so he could speak in her mind or hear her thoughts as needed, but he'd vowed he'd do that only when essential to her well-being. He'd been well aware that bloodtaking had been another betrayal of past promises made. So she didn't know whether she was glad or not he'd apparently honored his vow and missed her involuntary thought.

Closing his hand over her wrist, he gazed down into her face. Those dark eyes were so unfathomable to her, and yet so absorbed in everything she was, she almost swayed into him. But she managed to hold her ground. He lifted his gaze to Gideon, standing just behind her.

Though Gideon usually told Daegan to f.u.c.k off when he tried to issue him a directive, Anwyn knew that Gideon shared Daegan's confidence in Lord Brian. He also seemed to understand this moment was not about that. "We'll be here," the hunter said. "Watch your a.s.s and get it back here as soon as you can. She needs you."

f.u.c.king handling her, the both of them, Gideon saying what she couldn't bring herself to say.

Daegan raised a brow. "And you, vampire hunter?"

"I need you like I need a chancre on my d.i.c.k. Thanks for asking."

A cough came from the corner of their sitting room, where Debra and Brian were setting up a variety of equipment that looked like what she'd see in a private, well-funded hospital. Daegan sent Brian a quizzical look but the attractively built male with dark blond hair and direct green eyes straightened, nodded with a serious mien. "We'll do whatever we can for her."

Daegan nodded, looked back toward Anwyn and Gideon, but it was Gideon's gaze he met. "It turns out you are not the third wheel after all, Gideon Green. Right now I am. Care for her. I will be back soon, but if she needs anything, you let me know."

His words appeared to stun Gideon. Anwyn didn't know what to say, but the vampire didn't seem to require her words. With an oath, he jerked her to him, tasting her mouth, rough and deep. It had barely started before he let her go, so suddenly she staggered back. With his exceptional vampire speed, he was already gone, Gideon's hands on her shoulders.

"That lacked some of his usual finesse." Gideon cleared his throat.

She locked her jaw against the surge of emotion that came with Daegan's abrupt absence, the immediate emptiness inside her. Instead, she let herself feel the tightening of Gideon's hands, his silent understanding. He always a.s.sumed that he was second fiddle to Daegan, but she knew that wasn't correct. She didn't know if she could explain it herself, however, or if she even wanted to do so. How could she explain that there was something in her, growing ever larger daily, that needed both of them in her life, for different reasons but no less strongly, not one over the other? Particularly when she was nursing a deep sense of inexplicable hurt toward one, and the other one considered this a temporary role at best.

Moving away, she turned and faced Lord Brian. She read people well, particularly men. She'd been braced for Lord Brian to be arrogant and overbearing, a less palatable form of Daegan. Perhaps it was the t.i.tle, which she understood was given to all born vampires, or those awarded a Region. Brian was the former, the son of a British Region Master.

Much as she was reluctant to admit it while she was out of sorts with him, Daegan had understood her better than that. He had told her some about her new warden before the scientist arrived. Lord Brian was a rarity in his world. Though young for a vampire at eighty years, he'd shown no interest in becoming a territory overlord or Region Master. His ambition was wholly targeted toward a better understanding of the physiology of vampires. His studies included everything from the chemical makeup of the bond between vampires and servants to whether or not vampire vulnerability to the sun could be overcome. He also headed up project teams that were trying to cure the two diseases that affected vampires, Ennui and the Delilah virus.

His servant, Debra, was the first he'd chosen for himself, versus his parents' choice during his maturation. She appeared to be an exceptional lab a.s.sistant, quietly efficient, and yet from the way the two brushed as they moved, tuning the equipment, untangling leads and setting dials, it was obvious their intimacy involved the usual depth one would expect between vampire and servant. She was his, in whatever way he wanted her, and she didn't seem to have any problems with that.

However, Anwyn did detect a desire for something more in Debra. Though it wasn't evident in Debra's body language or expression, Anwyn didn't need a crystal ball to know what longing drove Brian's a.s.sistant. Being a servant required she give him everything of herself, yet accept however much or little Brian chose to give her, the right of a species that felt itself superior to humans. It was the root of the reason Anwyn had never capitulated to being Daegan's servant when she was human.

That thought made her gaze stray to Gideon. How, then, could she blame Gideon for fiercely maintaining that, third mark or not, he would not join her for a lifetime commitment in the vampire world? Would she want him to do so? See the proud man subjected to the things she knew happened there?

The vampire blood in her already clamored that it wasn't his choice, that it was hers. It scared her, how strong that voice was, how fiercely she wanted to hold on to that third-mark connection like an unbreakable chain She somehow already understood how Brian, born with such blood, didn't even question that his servant was his to do with as he wished, no matter that she seemed to be devoted to that purpose for him.

The human side of Anwyn, struggling valiantly to survive, wouldn't countenance taking that choice from Gideon. She didn't care what Daegan said about a third-marked servant being essentially trapped in the role for life, based on Council law.

But she didn't want to do without him, either.

Well, there was nothing she could do with that for right now. Higher priority was making sure she didn't drain Atlantis clientele during fits of bloodl.u.s.t or rip off their heads. Complimentary drink coupons wouldn't make up for that little faux pas.

"So what do we need to do first?" she asked, trying to sound matter-of-fact instead of resentful and wary.

Debra produced a folded blue gown, the inevitable open-on-one-side degradation. "This is so we can have access to the leads we'll be taping at different nerve and pressure points."

It smelled like a lab, bringing the image of hospitals and silver, sterile instruments. Frightened lab rats, not knowing anything but cage walls and cruel procedures that denied their value except as tools.

"Anwyn. Hey." Gideon settled his hands on her shoulders again. "Can she wear an open shirt instead? Something familiar?"

"Certainly." Brian stepped forward. His voice was kind, firm, but his eyes were a.s.sessing her every reaction, increasing that lab rat feeling. "Miss Naime . . . or do you prefer Mistress?"

"Only if you want me to tie you up and shove a vibrator up your a.s.s." She closed her eyes, fighting for calm, so she had no idea how he reacted to that. She needed to remember that Daegan had indicated many vampires didn't care for humor. They often took it for being a smart-a.s.s. Which, in this case, would probably be a fair accusation.