I was nude and sitting in the middle of my bed, about to give in to my mildly annoying habit of talking to myself, as I was prone to do when I felt like I was losing the fierce control that I kept over myself slip away. When I feared someone was going to die.
I closed my eyes and tried to keep my mouth shut, letting my inner monologue of self-hatred bleed through the earlier feelings of comfort I had been experiencing only minutes before. What, me, a self-sabotager? Why ever would you think that? Get your shit together, Moon! I mentally yelled at myself. You can't kill him... well, not easily, at least. And when was the last time someone you could say that about even turned your head? Made you feel?
"Should I have included leaving your shame at the door in my orders, princess?" Naberius had removed his coat and left it in the front room. He was sliding the crimson tie off of his neck and unbuttoning his black spidersilk shirt, and I couldn't help but watch, enrapt, as he exposed more of his flesh to my hungry gaze. How quickly his presence overwhelmed me! I couldn't think of any other that I had been with that was so clearly my superior in a number of ways, that also had tasted me but not been instantly subservient to my needs immediately thereafter. I think that was part of what made me so bored with most lovers; they fucked me and then the craving for me became less and less attractive because I knew it wasn't a choice. I always felt like they willingly gave me their bodies... but I raped and stole their souls in ways they could never have imagined.
But he already knew what he was climbing into bed with. If he knew my mother and my father as well as he seemed, he had no illusions about what I could do to him. Still, he came to me willingly, fearlessly. But so had so many others, so certain that their power over themselves would survive the first touch of my body. So often were they wrong. So, so wrong. And that was if they lived to develop a taste for me. One might have wondered why I craved human souls the way I did, knowing that almost every one would not, could not, deny the addictive taste of me. One would be very frustrated to know even I didn't have an answer to that one, really. I wanted to be loved by them... but I honestly doubted my own ability to return that feeling. It was the true curse of being what I was. I craved love like a drug. Others craved me the same. But it was never really reciprocal. They usually died before I could really find it in me to love them. Or went mad. And yet I, selfish creature that I was, continued to seek out the same over and over, hoping it would end differently this time. Who was the truly insane one here, then?
"Not shame, per se," I said, trying to sort through the inner tumultuous waves of emotion frothing under my skin. "Fear. Worry. Hope. Fear of that hope." I sighed. "I'll get it under control. Really. I just... need to tell my brain to shut it."
"You spend far too much time trying to temper yourself, princess," he said as he slid the shirt from his shoulders and my mouth went dry, looking at the pale flesh above the black suit pants. At some point, he had removed the expensive dress shoes and whatever socks he may have been wearing, standing before me clad only in those well-tailored slacks. His chest was like marble, eons of dangerous work making him strong and muscular. His human form was pristine, a work of art as created by Michelangelo himself. But I could see no shadow of his natural form flickering, telling me he was in control of himself utterly, and his walls were up, though not impenetrable. I knew he could scent my lust for him, and while that fact alone was enough to make my heart skip a beat, that he had already touched me as he had and was wise enough to keep himself reserved from me a little made me feel far more at ease and more than a little hot for him. He was saying without words that he respected my power and abilities enough to know that he should filter what he could. To not give into my will so easily, like so many others. Others whose names I couldn't even remember anymore. Did that make me a horrible monster? Maybe Ezra would have thought so... but Naberius wouldn't have judge me for it. I could see that.
Without another word, tie in hand, Naberius came to me and looked down at me kneeling in the center of my queen-size bed. I met his eyes, almost daring him to tell me I had nothing to worry about. To order me not to worry for him. Instead, he took my hands and raised my arms, crossing my wrists before me, and began to wrap that tie around them, binding them together easily. If they had been plain silk, satin, or any common human fabric, tearing out of them would have been a simple thing, even for me, a creature that really didn't have inhuman strength or speed. Buveur D'âme aren't like fictional vampires. We aren't lightning fast or colossally strong. We can't read minds, but we can often taste emotion, particularly if it is tied to lust. Our power lay in enslaving someone to their own lust. In making them want to be owned by us.
But... I didn't really want to own anyone. I never had. Sycophants and toadies annoyed me to an almost violent level. At my worst, I longed to break them and end their suffering; like the poor, pathetic, weak creatures that they were. Deep down, I hated that they were allowed that vulnerability when I was not. I hated that they got what I often craved but lost the second I have sex with anyone; I wanted to be owned.
Sort of. I didn't want my will to be permanently superseded by my lover's... I didn't want to be a slave to someone else's desires to the point I had no choice but to do as they bid. Because then I would be as weak and pathetic as my own Thralls. But I did want to *choose* to *allow* someone to control me like that. I had had that with Dominic for a time. Then I had become what I hated most; an addict. A helpless Thrall to my own needs and his word. I had to admit with some worry I saw that being a possibility with Naberius. But unlike Dominic, I didn't see him using it against me. And I didn't see him abusing it.
Saying nothing still, Naberius bound my wrists together and I watched his implacable expression. When he was satisfied that I would not be soon wiggling free of my elegantly armored shackles, he bound them to the iron headboard of my bed, forcing me to lay down just to be comfortable. "I respect that you do analyze things as intently as you do," he said conversationally as he tested the bindings with a slight pull to assure himself I was going nowhere. "It makes my job easier; I know you aren't going to do something stupid without thinking it through first. Well, so long as you have the time to think it through. You do seem to be more than a little impulsive." He winked at me with a smile. "I mean, you are now naked and bound to cold iron by spidersilk while a creature you have known less than 48 hours who may wish - no, wait, definitely does wish - to do nefarious things to your body stands over your helpless, exposed body."
"Oh, well, if that is our barometer for stupidity, you'll find me to be a perfect airheaded bimbo," I said with a self-deprecating laugh.
