Wishful Sinful [REVISED]

Part 10: The Face of Death

"Lysander Greyling, at your service," he said by way of introduction. "I'm afraid we're not actually together quite yet, though my beloved thrall kindly injected you with a very large helping of my blood, while you slept. That's how I was able to eclipse Dorian's connection to you and reshape the dream to my liking. He may have passed on some of his abilities to me when he turned me, but he failed to explore their full potential, as I have."

"What did you do to Dorian?"

"Such tender concern! Do you love him?"

"I..."

"Hm, I think you do. Tell me, has he fucked you yet?"

Jared flexed his jaw in irritation. "That's none of your goddamn business," he spat.

"Sounds like that means no. But let me have a proper look at you."

He tried to cover himself with his hands, but Lysander stepped forward and gripped his wrists painfully tight.

"My, you are a stunning boy," Lysander remarked, his eyes devouring every inch of Jared's body. "Turn about for me, now. I'd like to see that ass, as yet unclaimed."

Against his will, Jared found himself turning in a half circle, once Lysander released his wrists. He felt a hard slap against one of his buttocks.

"Beautiful. Now, as I explained, I wasn't there. Or, rather, I'm not yet here. It's confusing, I know, but do try to keep up. You may turn back around now."

He did so. "What. Did. You. Do," Jared bit off, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

"Such a gorgeous young thing, you are. Be a good lad and stroke yourself whilst we discuss your future, won't you? Keep it lively for me. Both hands, like you do when you're alone, because I know you do."

Jared unclenched his hands. He cupped his balls in his left hand and began slowly caressing himself with the right, even as fury rose up within him at this violation. Try as he might, he couldn't ignore or contradict Lysander's commands.

"Delightful. Now, what was I saying? Ah, yes, my thrall, Errol, pumped you full of my blood, as I have said, while your lovers slept on, undisturbed. Errol also has a rag soaked in Chloroform, should you wake prematurely. He's informed me through our psychic bond, however, that your rousing seems unlikely. Also, he snapped a most fetching photograph of the three of you, naked, in the bed together, and sent it to my phone. It's my new background, actually. Though I imagine it might be worth a pretty penny to the tabloids, as well. Particularly, all those highly-visible injuries on Haven's breasts. They'd have a field day hypothesizing what he's been doing to her all these years. Not that they'd arrive at the truth, mind you, but they could chip away at his reputation."

Jared's thoughts raced. Were they abducting him? How did they get into the hotel room? How would they possibly get away with sneaking an unconscious Jared out the door and down the stairs? And what, if anything, would Lysander do with the photograph? Blackmail?

The man laughed. "Let me ease your confusion. It's writ bold across your handsome face. By the way, might I add, you look a bit like a lover Dorian had in the sixties, of whom he was very fond. Tragic, what happened." He cast his eyes downward, toward Jared's cock, and sighed heavily, then clapped.

"Moving on. Earlier in the evening, I charmed the front desk into giving me a spare key card to your suite. We've been following you. I gave the key to Errol, along with the rag and the sanguinem. Here's what's going to happen next. You're going to listen very carefully to my directions and follow them with immaculate precision, though you won't consciously remember this encounter. Are you listening, lad?"