Enslaved By Blood: A Vampire Romance_By Carmella (Epub)

“Tell me something, Mariana.” His voice is husky, amusement dances within his words. “Has your pussy ever been caressed by a man in front of an audience? Do you squeal loudly when a tongue strokes your folds, or are you quiet and breathless?” He moves in closer, his eyes locked on my horrified face.

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?” I snap.

“Oh, it’s everything, princess. Your performance is everything. All of them are going to watch…that’s what we are selling. Not just blood. Instead of being the sex slave, you’ll just be part of their hunt. If I were you, Mariana.”

I hate the way his tongue utters my name. It’s mesmerizing. I’m appalled. Stunned. Suddenly I don’t think the bulge in his pants isn’t from hunger. I can’t believe an emotion inclined for humans could take reign of him, but it steers his mind.

“I’d sell sex. Practice, Mariana.”

Cian is a notorious vampire. He was the best in sex trading, the top seller at Club Deviance until one day he decided he wanted out. However, you're never out of the game. To settle a debt, he captures, and is forced into training Mariana, the sexy ebony goddess, who'll stroke his lust, and challenge his sanity.


TAKE A PEEK!!!!!

Chapter One

Mariana

 

My mother always told me monsters were real. They’re not always lurking in shadows, but are the faces of our closest friends. I was to trust no one growing up because at any moment I let my guard down my throat could be torn to shreds, and I’d bathe in a pool of my blood. 

I know by the tension in his shoulders, and, the twitch of his hand, my step- father is pissed. The air in the kitchen is thick with spice as he cuts away at jalapeños. The knife scrapes noisily against the plate. I cringe at the sound. 

“How many times do I have to tell you to keep your mouth shut?” His words are venom, turning my blood thick with every uttered syllable. I part my lips, anxious to defend myself but I know it’s no use. Whatever I say doesn’t matter. He owns me. His rules are my way of life. He had made it pretty clear that if I didn’t follow them, I could fend for myself, sucking cock for coins. 

I think of the policeman who had shown up yesterday, and how I’d stated too much about people who were stopping by to see Hector – my stepdad. Apparently, it led to a drug bust of one of his major distributors. I don’t know how I could’ve been so stupid. 

I dig my nails into my palm so hard. I draw blood. Even after my palm is slick with the liquid and my fingers hurt, I press harder, taking comfort in the fact it’s all I can focus on briefly. 

Hector reaches to twist the sink handle, and the sound of rushing water fills the room. It’s hypnotic. I wish he would just forget everything, but I know there will be no warning. 

His punishment comes in the strike of the knife against my face. The blade is sharp, slashing a cut along my cheek to the corner of my eye. The jalapeno juice that coats it seeps into the open wound, and I can’t contain the scream that bubbles from my lips. My hands fly to my face, and I hold the sliced flesh, trying to douse flames that aren’t there. My skin burns so much I expect blisters to form. 

“Get the fuck out of my face, Cabrona!” I’m immune to the hateful words he calls me because all my mind registers is the pain in my face. I stumble towards the bathroom off the hallway leading away from the kitchen. My bloody fingers stain the perfectly polished wallpaper as I catch myself from falling. I know I’ll have to scrub those finger smears away or else another punishment. 

I clump towards the bathroom, shoving the door open with my hip. My hands shoot out to press against the sink. I’m afraid to look up. The cut is an angry red. Blood dribbles down my cheek. I grab the hand towel that hangs next to the sink and wet it with cool water, before dabbing my cheek. 

“Ow!” I hiss, air rushing through my clenched teeth, angrily. “This is your fault,” I mumble at my reflection. I couldn’t just keep my mouth shut. I knew better, but deep down inside I wanted something to happen. I wanted him to seethe. I just didn’t think it’d be traced back to me. 

“Tu eres estúpido.” I bang my fists against the sink. The porcelain turns bright red. I run my palm under the faucet, watching the blood get sucked up by the drain. A familiar pounding on the bathroom door, elicits a sharp inhale of fear from me. 

“Clean up the fucking mess out here, and get ready for dinner. Seven o’clock.” 

“Okay,” I croak: my throat has gone dry. I don’t waste time cleaning my face up. With gentle strokes, I wipe the blood from my face, before running my finger over the scrape. I hiss and pull my hand away. 

I look so much like my mother. Thick black locks of hair, mocha colored skin and honey brown eyes. We’re so close in resemblance people constantly mistook me for her sister. She was beautiful. Wise. Strong enough to make sure we survived when we had nothing. That’s why I don’t blame her for marrying Hector. She would always tell me ‘I relinquish a part of my freedom, so my child will want for nothing.’ She’s made so many sacrifices, but with every passing day, her wisdom and memory fade. It’s almost as if she was never married to Hector. 

Once I’m presentable enough, I wipe at the blood along the sink, before opening the door and scrubbing at the fingerprints of blood on the walls. It’s a fight to remove the stains. I scrub, pressing my arm firmly against the wall but this wallpaper is a mural, and so much of my blood has painted it before. 

I have no choice but to give up. The blood spot is duller but still evident. I don’t want to be late to dinner. I’ll deal with it later. Maybe one of the maids will clean it up before he has a chance to lacerate another part of my body. 

My room is a cold reminder of my mother’s absence. Tulips are painted along the wall, expert brush strokes from the delicate hands of my mother. Soft pinks and yellows dot the walls, but I don’t feel serene despite the vibrant colors. The room has no life. It died along with my mother. 

A dress is laid atop my bed, expensive, red, silk. My breathing hitches in my throat at the sight. He’s livid. My shaking fingers brush the soft material, fear dances in my gaze as I divert my eyes to the high-heels neatly placed at the foot of my bed. I screwed up. I really screwed up. 

There’s only been a handful of times where I’ve been made to wear something so expensive. When my mother died, my outfit had cost more than a couple thousand dollars, and I’d been beaten almost to death. 

As if to goad me further in my mental plea of escape, a breeze slips through the crack of my window and ruffles the curtain. I could climb out my window and take a chance with the tree. A warning alarm blares from the desk in my room. I lurch towards it, striking the clock hard and before I can fight with myself, I kick my shoes off. 

I tear my pants and shirt off quickly, ignoring the ache all over my body as I do. Angry purple bruises cover my body. I trace my fingers over the splotches, wincing as pain prickles the skin. My body is a blank canvas, and Hector wasted no time covering me with bruises like some sick, twisted fucking painting. 

I glance at the brushes and pencils sitting idly atop my desk. I haven’t picked them up since the death of my mother a year ago. What was the point? Not even painting, the one passion I’ve held throughout my whole life, could create a sanctuary from this hell. 

“Miss?” A soft voice calls from behind my door. I snap my attention over to the thick wood, and panic. Is it past seven? I don’t want to give Hector more motive than he already has. Being late would only give him the incentive to beat me with my alarm clock. 

“Yes?”

“Mr. Perez sent me to come get you for dinner.” She says softly. “He insists you hurry.” 

I glance over at the clock. 

How the hell have fifteen minutes gone by so quickly? I must’ve stared at the objects in my room and zoned out. My heart thrums so hard. I’m sure the veins in my throat will tear apart from the beat. I swallow the thickness clouding my tongue, and slip the gown onto my body. 

It fits perfectly. A tight red glove accommodating every curve of my hips and my breasts. I’m morose as I straighten the straps in place and bend to slip the heels onto my feet. Nausea swirls in my stomach before I have a chance to swallow my fear. It disintegrates my appetite, and I know I’ll have to force myself to eat. Otherwise, I’d insult him. 

I loosen my locks out of the unruly ponytail and let them cascade over my shoulders to shield some of the bruises. I quickly pat down the frizz, using the mirror hanging on the door to guide my hands. My brown eyes are large, and I practice forming an impassive expression. I can’t be weak in front of him. I don’t want to give him that satisfaction. 

I find one of the maids outside, standing silently near the door. She sets her lips into a thin smile, and gestures for me to follow. Every step I take descending the stairs feels too short. I wish I could be stuck in a time warp and descend the stairs forever, never encountering Hector’s wrath again. 

The maid see’s my hesitation, frowns and casts a sympathetic look at me. I know she’s trying to hurry me along because she’ll receive consequences if I’m uncooperative.  

A mixture of food aroma’s waft in the air. As we enter the dining room, I stiffen, greeted by the sadistic smirk on Hector’s lips and a man I don’t know. The table is neatly set, food already dished onto the expensive plates but my appetite has completely diminished. 

“Sit,” Hector commands, with a quick jerk of his head towards the chair next to the stranger. I scurry to pull it out and plop myself down on it. He ignores my impoliteness and turns his attention to the man. Uneasiness settles in the pit of my stomach, threatening to have me dry-heave. It’s been a while since I’ve properly eaten. I’m sure nothing but bile would come up. 

“Thank you for joining us, Michael.” 

Michael runs his meaty hand atop his balding head and smiles. His teeth are an off white, and his nose is crooked like it’s been broken one too many times.  “It’s always a pleasure doing business with you, Hector.” 

“Ah, I agree,” Hector responds. I can tell he’s itching to add that it’s only a pleasure for Michael. It’s more a nuisance for him because Michael isn’t a trustworthy business associate. I recall snippets of conversations Hector’s had regarding the man he’s invited to dinner. 

Alarms go off in my head. He never lets me near anything regarding his business. Anytime I questioned his empire or commented on his company I received instant discipline. A slap in the face, a punch to the ribs. Hard enough to break a bone, and he made damn sure I never spoke up about business again. 

Something’s not right.

 I try to keep my face impassive, but I know my confusion takes over my features. I can’t stop myself from furrowing my brows and fleeting my eyes skeptically back and forth between them. 

“Please, help yourself. The meat is tender.” Hector gestures with his silverware to the food piled onto our plates. It’s a big, juicy steak. My stomach churns. Hector eyes me with malice, daring me to defy him. 

With shaky fingers, I grab my fork and stab at the meat, sawing a piece off with the knife, while contemplating how quickly I could stab him in the throat. Just the right angle and the knife would plunge into his neck.

 I swallow the lump in my throat. The knife wouldn’t make it. It’d probably slip out of my fingers before it made contact and he’d end my life by strangling me. He’d do it in front of company, just for emphasis. 

Michael obnoxiously stabs at his steak causing his knife to plunge through it and scrape the expensive dish. After popping a thick chunk in his mouth, his teeth tear apart the meat like an animal. I glance sideways at him, watching as he eyes me the same way he eyes the meat he ravishes in his mouth. Blood draining from the meat stains his teeth an ugly red. 

My face twists into disgust which makes him laugh. He laughs at my discomfort. He’ll probably get off on the hatred that seeps from me. I tighten my fingers around my fork. It takes all the strength in my body not to jump at him and stab him in the face with the silverware. 

I place some steak in my mouth to busy my hands and mind, and chew slowly, trying to appear content with the meal. Hector’s eyes are back on Michael, momentarily satisfied with my compliance. I don’t relax. Letting my guard down is naïve.  

“No sense wasting any time,” Hector says after swallowing what’s in his mouth. He flexes his bulging muscles, runs a hand through his black hair and sets his utensils down.  

“Hmm,” Michael replies. I don’t like the way he’s eyeing me for their conversation. 

A shift in the air is all the warning I have before I’m ripped backward out of my chair. I scream. It pierces the silence with force, but there is no one here to save me. My head smacks against the floor so hard, my vision spots as I’m dragged out of my seat. 

“No!” I bellow. 

Michael cackles while still chewing food, it makes the sound garbled as it leaves his lips, but I’m fighting. I kick and scratch and dart my hands out to grab onto something. 

Hector grins as I’m hauled upright, and smacked across the face by a bulky man. My cheek radiates with pain, the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth. I’m pinned against the wall, rough hands pressing hard against my chest, and my hands are cinched by the man’s fingers. 

Hector rises from the table and strides over to me. He squares his shoulders smugly and holds his head high. 

“This is what happens when you fuck with my business.” His fingers grip my chin so tightly, I can’t move my mouth. His nose has a light dusting of white powder on it. I almost shake my head and cluck my tongue at him, but I can’t move my face. He knows what happens when you start sampling the product. It’s a waste of money. He leans in. I can’t shrink back as he places a kiss on my cheek. 

“Make sure you get your money’s worth with this one,” Hector calls to Michael as he releases my chin. Tears form in my eyes, stinging before making their way down my face. 

“Please! No!” I shriek. 

A swift punch to the gut causes the air to rush from my lungs. Noise ceases from my mouth as I’m carried towards the door. I groan, paralyzed by the pain radiating in my abdomen.

“I can’t wait to shut that mouth up,” Michael hisses while groping his cock through his jeans. “We’ll see how much sound you can get out when you’re choking on my seed, you filthy cunt.” 

Fear guides my fingers to reach out and scratch his face. I flail my arms tirelessly as I try to break free of the man carrying me. I kick my legs, hoping to come into contact with something that can help me escape. Michael curses loudly, before backhanding me. I bite my tongue from the slap, and all the fight in me dies.

“Please,” I cry. Tears actively fall down my face as the man holding me yanks open a car door. He tosses me inside without a glance at my helpless face. 

Michael slides in beside me and grabs my throat while pressing me against the leather seats. I can’t breathe. Not even a trickle of air passes through my lungs. I struggle against him, clawing at his hand but he doesn’t loosen his grip. 

“Listen to me, bitch. Do that again, and I’ll make sure you suffocate on my cock. The last thing you’ll see is me.” 

One more painful squeeze to my throat and he releases me. Coughs sputter from my lips as I try to breathe. I grip at my throat, and fall back against the seat as I focus on the air passing into my lungs. My chest burns. 

I attempt to focus on the direction we’re going. The car continues further into a rundown part of town. Vacant buildings are covered in graffiti, while the structure crumbles. There’s no one on the street. There’s no life here. At least not out in the open. 

If I can just get out of this car…

I surreptitiously try the door handle, pulling gently only to realize it’s locked. The locks are hidden inside of the door, inaccessible to me. I shift in my seat, muffling the groan as my heel scrapes against my ankle. 

I could break the window with my heel!

I glimpse over at Michael who’s occupied with the phone in his hand. He’s typing something quickly. I’m afraid he’s read the thoughts in my head, but he doesn’t pay attention to me as I lean slightly forward to unhook my high heel strap. 

The heel slides off me easily and without noise. We slow towards a light, and I take action. I slam the heel as hard as I can against the glass. It cracks, and I waste no time delivering another blow. Michael paws at me, trying to get the heel out of my grasp. He manages to grab my arm and pull me towards him. 

The driver doesn’t look back at us. He’s too busy trying to control the vehicle as he jets forward uncontrollably and drives through the red light. I lift my legs as I flail against him and kick the window, watching with amazement as it gives way and shatters. 

I elbow Michael, enjoying the sound of pain whistling through his teeth. He releases me quickly, clutching his chest tightly, and I throw myself towards the window. The broken glass shards cut against my hands and clothing, but I don’t care. The pain is nothing compared to the promise of freedom.

I manage to get myself halfway out of the car before he tugs on me. I’m pulled back in. He punches me. I screech from the blow and clutch my head. Saliva pools in my mouth as I get ready to puke. Pain is searing and blinding. 

His hands are back at my throat before I have time to react. I’m suffocating. The inside of a sleazy BMW the last thing I’ll see before death. 

I give up trying to pry his hands from my flesh and manage to grab ahold of my high heel. I throw my arm back as hard as I can. Pain sears inside my shoulder, but it makes contact with his head, and a sickening crunch follows. Michael shrieks like a wounded animal. His arms leave me and clutch his head. I twist my head to look at him. Blood gushes from the wound the heel has made. 

And I thought stiletto death didn’t exist. 

The car whips sideways as the driver struggles to regain control. I don’t have time to contemplate how dangerous this all is. I have a small window of opportunity, and I don’t want to waste it. 

I begin to climb out of the window, kicking off the back of the driver’s seat to push myself all the way out. I’m disoriented as I pull myself up, and begin to stumble away from the car. My vision is dotted, and my legs feel like they’ll give out at any second, but I can’t stop. I hear the screech of the breaks and a car door opening. 

“No,” I grumble, and pick up the pace. My movements are sloppy, tainted by the pain all over my body. Blood soaks into my dress. 

I’m tackled. There’s no warning but the sound of heavy footsteps racing towards me, before a large body slams into me. I topple to the ground, connecting against the concrete with an angry thud. 

I can barely make out the voice that spews hatred at me. He tears at my clothes. I blink up and see Michael. His blood drips down his face in a steady stream. He spits it at me as he frees my breasts from my dress. 

“This is how you want it to be, you fucking whore! I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking kill you!” 

I command my arms to move and fight him, but they lay limply at my side. Unconsciousness brushes my vision, as I begin to fade in and out. 

I ride off into oblivion with the sound of a growl and a blood-curling scream. 

 

 


 

 



Chapter Two

Cian

 

Deviance – an exclusive club devoted to providing the highest bidders with sex, blood, and more blood – is the last place I want to fucking be. The outside is crumbling brick in need of replacement. Overlooked by human’s daily, there to entertain those a little darker. 

The inside is updated renovations. Leather, satin, and chrome. All sharp and dangerous to the eye. Décor meant to set the mood for the auction of women. I dabbled in the sex trade; Used it to get up the chain, make something of myself, but I’m out. I don’t want to be a part of that shit anymore. I don’t want to answer to anyone. 

All I want to do is bash the smug look on Mathis' face off with my fists as he stares down at me from the iron throne of chairs resting in the back of the stage room. Blood is splattered across his face. He takes his time pulling out a rag and wiping it off himself. His teeth are stained red, and he displays them like a priceless collection item. 

A woman attached to his chair by a collar and leash squirms beside him. I can smell her: Hear her heartbeat racing in her chest. Her hair is cropped short to her head, revealing a plump heart-shaped face and wide, frightened eyes. 

Mathis lazily drags his fingers through his blood smeared blonde hair before setting dark eyes on me. 

“What the fuck do you want?” I growl. The men and women surrounding Mathis inhale sharply from my tone of voice. How dare I speak to him like that? A man with more power than God? I want to scoff and spit at their feet. No one owns me. That’s why. 

If Mathis is bothered, he doesn’t show it. He keeps his expression calm, light-hearted, even. He’s putting on the best show for all these fuckers. He doesn’t want to make his moves too quickly and fuck up. 

I eye him with a cocked brow. Answer the fucking question… 

The walls are a deep red, resembling the one thing we fucking worship. Blood. 

I snort. Mathis places the rag back in his pocket and gestures with a sharp nod towards the stage. 

“You’re back in.” Those three words send me through the roof. My vision is dotted red, and my hands are fists at my sides. 

“I’m out!” 

The smile that spreads onto his lips takes a million fucking years. He’s cocky. Knowing there’s no way I can defy him without a fight. That’s what he wants. A show for all these people. Well, I’ll give him a fucking show. 

“We had an incident with one of the girls.” He runs his fingers along his bottom lip, a sadistic expression twisted on his face like he’s savoring the taste of said girl. 

“Maybe next time try not to consume the product.” I snap. I don’t give a shit about humans, or any of the little sluts they whip into doing their bidding. Not my monkeys, not my circus. I’m out. I’ve been out, and there’s no reason I want to go back. 

“The answer is no.” 

“Ah, Cian, Cian, Cian… You make this seem like you have a choice.” His chuckle reverberates off the walls. Some standing around him shrink back from the threatening edge to his laugh. 

“Smart of you to catch onto that.” I cock my head sideways, sarcastically and grin at him. “I don’t want to deal with the shit show you have going on.” 

His eye twitches, and the smug look on his face vanishes. I know I’ve gotten beneath his translucent skin. I’ve insulted him. It’s a bold move, but I stand my ground. Once upon a time Mathis and I were equals. In fact, I saved his life. He was nothing but a scrawny teenager, ripped from his bed and dragged to the woods to be killed. 

That was over a hundred years ago. Now with power, he’s nothing but an asshole. A sadistic son-of-a-bitch that deals with blood bags, or should I call them women? They’re less than human. Something to suck on for long periods of time and fuck whenever we see fit. 

“I think you’re forgetting something, Cian,” Mathis growls. His voice quivers, angrily. My jaw tenses as I level my gaze with him. Everyone surrounding is hushed. When Mathis has something against you, you’re his bitch. And I’m not about to be his fucking lapdog. 

“If you don’t find us a girl to use, we’ll just have to find a substitute instead.” He waves his hand to someone, but I don’t look away. I know what he’s thinking. Who he has captured. Anger consumes me, pulsating through my body like the fuel to a fire. How the fuck did he know? 

As if to answer all the unspoken questions coursing through my head, the small, familiar squeak of Juliet pierces the room. I whip my head in her direction. 

Her blonde curls are matted with dirt. Her clothes are crumpled and over worn. Her eyes are wide, blue and frightened. They land on me, but confusion clouds them. She doesn’t know who I am, or why these men have grabbed her. She doesn’t know that she’s a descendent of my brother, one of the only blood relative’s that are left to me. She’s human, and despite my profound hatred of them, family is the only soft spot I hold. There’s only her left, besides her father who disappeared.

She’s only sixteen. Just a child. Now tainted by the world. The noise that leaves my lips isn’t human. I step towards Mathis, and the two men stationed off to the side of the room take a step towards me, but he stops them. 

“Now, I don’t want this to end bloody, especially when there’s a show so soon.” Mathis rubs his chin contemplatively. “Get me a girl by two weeks, and we’ll consider your part done.” 

“I want it in blood,” I say. “When this is done, I’m out. I want a blood oath.” 

Mathis shifts in his seat, playing with my demands in his head. Figuring out ways to counter them. I tighten my fists to the point of breaking bones to keep from lunging at that fucker. It doesn't matter who you help, or what you’ve done in the past. It means nothing. 

“Fine,” He responds reluctantly. “Do this, and you’re out.”

“A blood oath,” I pronounce loudly. 

“A blood oath it shall be.” He replies, grinning at my discomfort. The room is hushed. He’s agreed. A blood oath, if dishonored results in death. Elders are the ones in charge. They have the real control – stemming back hundreds of years. They’re old school. Barbaric. If you go back on your oath, you die. Not me or even the strongest vampire in this fucking shit hole can stop them. 

“And the girl?” My words are spit through clenched teeth. His eyes gleam with victory from my momentary display of irritation. That’s what the world’s about: Challenging your opponents, and claiming victories when you know you’ve got them by the balls. 

“She’ll be left alone. Thrown back into the world in…” He glances at Juliet, and just the thought of his eyes on her tears away at the restraint I cling to. “Almost perfect condition.” 

“If you put one fucking hand –“

“Relax, Cian.” He holds his hand up, and an image of me breaking his fingers decorates my closed lids with every heavy blink. “I can assure you if you follow my instructions she will be fine.” 

A part of me wishes she was dead, so he didn’t have anything left to chain me to. He would have no leverage. Nothing. Any other human he could slaughter, torture, fuck, cut and I won’t lift a fucking finger in protest. 

Mathis instructs someone, grab what’s needed for the blood oath. All the people will bear witness to this. If he goes back on his oath, everyone witnessing that lies will die. I secretly hope all these motherfuckers burn. 

Blood oaths are made with the signing of our blood, documented in a computer system that’s regulated by the elders. They’re very powerful. Some of the wealthiest businessmen and the human world have no fucking clue. 

The paper made for the blood signing is human skin, constructed thin enough to resemble that of regular paper. It’s brought to me. I graze my thumb against my tooth and press it against the paper. My blood print stains the page. Mathis signs in blood after me. 

“There. Your blood oath.” 

I don’t say thank you. The last thing I want to do is thank the prick who’s forcing me back into the trade. 

“See you at show time.” He winks. 

Luck is what binds my fists as I manage to exit the room without throwing a punch. It’s for Juliet. The innocent girl who doesn’t even know who I am. Too bad she didn’t know our family's cursed. Bad shit always happens to us. Me getting turned was only proof of that. 

***END OF SAMPLE***
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