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  Protect me? “You do realize that you’re a captive here?”

  He looks around the room as though it’s the first time he’s seeing it. The rumors about him all indicate that Virius… isn’t quite right in the head. Something about the vampire who turned him being a sadistic Dominatrix from the old world.

  “I’m holding you captive,” I say slowly. “So, I don’t need your protection. You’re under mine.”

  Virius grins at that. For a creature who is allergic to the sun, his smile would be that star’s greatest rival. “You are wee but mighty.”

  He called me that the other day.

  Wee.

  Like he’s some Scottish highlander and I’m his lass.

  I know he was a Roman soldier who’d later gotten his kicks in the Spanish Inquisition by first torturing and then drinking the blood of prisoners. And now he is squatting on my family’s ancestral land. But once I am with child, the gods will see fit to right that wrong the American government thought they could erase with paper and pen. Which means there is no time like the present to get down to business.

  “Listen, here’s the deal,” I say. “I’m holding you here until the eclipse, which is in a couple of days.”

  Virius nods, but I get the feeling he’s not listening. His gaze is on my lips. His golden gaze flitting up, down, and across as I form words.

  Subconsciously, I wet them. The tip of my tongue sneaks out and curls over my top lip. At the move, his nostrils flare. Something inside me heats, making my next words easy to say.

  “We’re going to have sex then. On the night of the eclipse.”

  Virius blinks. Then he frowns. He had been leaning slightly forward, towards me. Now he leans back, as far away from me as he can get.

  That doesn’t seem right. I’m sure he’s into me. Most guys are into me. If they’re not from my tribe, they look at me like I’m some exotic, brown treat they want to go slumming with.

  Not Virius. He looks horrified at the thought of getting busy with me. Maybe vampires are immune to the magic sparking between my thighs?

  “It’s not my idea,” I hurry to say. My wounded pride is doing backflips to put some distance between us. “It’s part of the prophecy.”

  The prophecy that will break the curse of the land and return its rightful ownership to my people. Not that I truly care about that.

  I mean, of course I want to claim my birthright. But what I want more is to stay here in the States. Arizona has nothing on the beauty of Guatemala’s rainforest. But the educational opportunities of these northerners are something that makes my mouth water.

  “Is someone forcing you?” Virius asks, his voice going to a low register that warns of danger.

  I like the way it rumbles through me. It coils and uncoils like a snake. The weight of it wraps around me, and something inside of me shivers.

  “Because I will pull out his entrails through his arse and feed them to the bastard.”

  Well, that was certainly visual. At least I see that Virius’s distaste has less to do with me than with the thought that I may be in danger.

  “No,” I say. “No one’s forcing me. It’s my destiny.”

  “Your destiny?”

  “Yes.”

  Virius considers that. The hand he raked through his hair now scratches at the day’s worth of stubble on his chin. “My answer is still no.”

  The dagger I forgot I was holding slips from my grasp. It clatters on the bed with a thud, resting between us. “No?” I ask.

  “No,” he confirms. “I will not have sex with you.”

  So, let me get this straight: I’m finally about to bag a guy who is not in my tribe, who doesn’t look at my vagina like it’s the holy grail, and he’s telling me no?

  Hunh?

  Maybe I’m the one who is cursed.

  Chapter 3

  Virius

  I’ve known many women over my life. Thousands upon thousands. Though I haven’t seen many of their actual faces. My memories of the women I’ve fucked are all of their cunts and asses.

  All those pussies were pink; only the shade differed. Each woman’s pussy had two lips that split open as they grinned at my cock. Some lips were full and plump. Others were flat and saggy. Not all came with a pearl at the center. Some had been mutilated due to sacred rites of gods or legal rights of men.

  None of these women cared to see my face. Each cunt came to me for one purpose only: to be filled and stretched by the monster that prowls between my thighs.

  For nearly two centuries the beast below has lain in a quiet slumber, rarely stirring. I haven’t been forced to fuck since Domitia walked into the sun. I do not seek pleasure with my hand, not having the desires that normal males do. And so, it slept.

  Until just this moment. Until Zahara called to it with those pretty lips of hers.

  For the first time in nearly two hundred years, the beast lifts its head. The massive twin sacks it rests between stir. A bead of interest forms, dripping from the single eye of the twisted creature hidden in my pants.

  “I will not have sex with you,” I say again.

  My dick pulses, calling me a liar. It has always been the only part of my body that ignores the fact that I do not lie. It has fucked women time and again—against my will. All at the behest of the one who changed me into the blood-sucking whore that I am.

  My mind was rarely interested in the cunts and asses and mouths open to my cock. My thoughts and needs were just as irrelevant to my cock as they were to Domitia. If Domitia presented me with the bared orifice of a paying client, my dick would get hard.

  Most of the time. When my dick didn’t rise to the occasion… Well, then Domitia had her ways.

  I was her slave. She owned my body. It was at her command.

  I got off easier than my brother Hadrian. Luckily, all our sire wanted of me was my dick. She’d ripped Hadrian’s heart out—more than once.

  “Are you saying you don’t want to fuck me?”

  I want to growl at the foul words coming out of Zahara’s perfect mouth. Her lips are pink, a deep ruddy pink. There is a divot at the center of her top lip. A small pearl that I want to taste. My fangs sharpen, knowing that the flesh of her mouth is filled with her blood. At the same time, the blood I have in me rushes southward, answering the call of the beast.

  “No, little one, I am not going to fuck you.”

  Once again, my dick calls me a liar. It throbs in my pants, ready to take a bite out of the zipper that encases it behind the harsh cloth. It wants to get at Zahara. To get inside her. The lush lips of her face would be a perfect place to break two centuries of celibacy.

  The hell I’ll ever let that monster out. I would die before letting it ravage her. I press the heel of my hand over the beast to leash it.

  Zahara’s gaze tracks my movement, her dark eyes opening wider as she sees the impression of my cock against the fabric. The outline of my dick can be traced down my thigh. My hand is not large enough to cover my entire length.

  “You see now,” I say. “You’re too small.”

  Zahara’s plump lips curl into what I think she means to be disgust. Her brows pinch together. Her nose crinkles. Her lips purse. Like everything about her, I find the movements fascinating.

  “Puh-lease,” she scoffs. “Every man thinks his prick is the biggest.”

  “I don’t think, little one. It’s a fact. I am massively endowed. I would easily split you wide open.”

  There are many women who like that. Women who wanted to be stretched so far that they tore as I pounded into them. I knew my dick had done its job when they couldn’t walk for days, sometimes weeks, after fucking my cock.

  “I won’t let it hurt you,” I say to Zahara.

  “You do know that the female body is made to shove out something the size of a watermelon?”

  A watermelon? I’ve never heard of such used in sex. I’ve borne witness to women mounting horses. One even tried to fuck an elephant—to a fatal conclusion.


  I don’t think that is Zahara’s aim. She doesn’t strike me as a masochist. Or a size-queen who aches for the stretch of an oversized phallus.

  “I’m not the width of a gourd,” I say. “Definitely the length, though.”

  She snorts at that. Her lips lift the tiniest fraction. Is that a smile? I’m not sure. I have never made a woman smile without my dick being put to use by her.

  Just like her scowl, Zahara’s grin is beautiful, breathtaking. I need to remember what I did to make it happen so I can do it again. We were talking about my cock, and her vagina, and pushing fruit out of it. The idea of her vagina as a piece of fruit is definitely appetizing, both to my mouth as well as my cock.

  “Like it or not,” she says, “we are going to have to fuck.”

  I still don’t like the foul words coming from her sweet mouth. But my dick does. It punches at the front of my pants again.

  “It’s the only way to break the curse,” she says. “The only way to get our land back.”

  “Your land?”

  “The Serrano vineyard is on sacred Tohono O’odham land.” Zahara’s gaze turns fierce. I see a fleeting image of the warriors of her past cross her features.

  “Oh? Is that all?” I say. “Take whatever land in the vineyard you like. There’s plenty of room.”

  The smile she wears slips. When it comes back, it’s clearly forced. “You don’t understand how ownership works, do you?”

  “My mother sold me to a demon when I was just a boy.” I shrug; the words tumble from my mouth easily for the facts that they are. “I was born a slave. I’ve always been someone’s property.”

  Her forced smile falls under the weight of my words. The sharp end of the blade she’s holding points down. Zahara looks at me, horror-struck.

  “Oh, I don’t blame her. It wasn’t as though she loved me. Maternal love is a fairly new human concept. Most animals pop out their offspring and leave them to fend for themselves. My mother did feed and clothe me for a few years, at least.”

  Zahara only stares at me. She doesn’t smile. I don’t know the words to say to bring back that grin. It seems inappropriate to bring up my dick and her vagina after talking about my mother.

  I’m not sure. I wish Gaius was here to advise me. Though he was born lowly like me, his manners are perfect. I never bothered with the niceties of table manners and polite speech. No one ever wanted anything from me north of my cock.

  What I do like is having Zahara’s attention fully focused on me. Her dark gaze roams with a bright light of compassion. But then she blinks, as though catching herself. She closes her eyes and looks away.

  “Are you hurt?” I reach out to her.

  She moves back. The pointy end of the blade is pointed once again at my heart. Doesn’t she know it’s her frown that cuts me more than that edge ever could?

  “You’re trying to get in my head, aren’t you? Trying to make me feel sympathy for you so that I’ll let you go.”

  “Do you mean mind control?”

  The fact that she’s now glaring at my ear instead of directly into my eyes tells me the answer.

  “I don’t have that talent,” I assure her. “Compelling takes a lot of focus. My mind wanders a lot. I was likely dropped on my head as a baby.”

  Her glare leaves my ear and returns to my eyes. I wish I could hold her there. Having her eyes on mine makes me feel clearheaded for the first time in my life.

  “I can hardly look at myself in the mirror,” I say. “But I can’t seem to take my eyes off you.”

  The corner of Zahara’s right eye twitches, as though she’s trying to determine whether to believe me or not. I hold still for her examination. I’ve never been to school or had any formal learning, other than Hadrian insisting I learn my letters. Whatever test Zahara gives me now, I am determined to pass.

  “I don’t lie. Not with my words, anyway.” I look down at the growing bulge in my pants.

  Zahara’s gaze dips too. “Looks like your body knows what it wants.”

  I shake my head. “Both me and my dick desire you. But like I said, I won’t let it hurt you.”

  “You talk about your penis as though it’s not a part of you.”

  “It has a mind of its own. Believe me when I tell you it’s too big for you. Would you like to see for yourself?”

  I reach for my zipper and peel it down. As I do so, the blade falls from Zahara’s hand and she gasps. With feline grace, she springs from the bed and lands on the floor as the monster makes its appearance from between the teeth of my zipper.

  Chapter 4

  Zahara

  I’ve spent most of my life living in Central America. In that land of lush green forests and wetlands, there are many large animals that can kill you, one of them being the Anaconda. I’ve seen my fair share of the large snakes slithering around, looking for a meal. None of those beasts could hold a twig to the massive tree trunk that Virius Serrano takes out of his pants.

  I leap back, away from him and to the door. The hackles of the big cat in me rise, now on high alert as I sense a threat.

  I hiss at the sight of the predator as it slithers towards me. There is no tongue that slithers out of its mouth. Only a single bead of moisture that leaks from its solitary eye. I swear that eye tracks me as more of the beast’s body slithers from its hiding space between Virius’s thighs.

  Is he carrying that thing around with him the whole time? How does he stay upright? How has it not attacked him? If it gets close enough, it will certainly swallow me whole—from the tip of my head on down to my pinky toes.

  Virius’s cock is thick enough to take me whole. He’s definitely long enough to have his fill of me. And that thing is supposed to go inside me?

  I sincerely don’t see that happening. It defies the laws of biology. It defies the laws of physics.

  “It won’t hurt you,” Virius says as he holds the massive beast out towards me. He can barely contain his cock in his hands, and his hands are nearly the size of my head.

  The pulsing of that one-eyed monster begs to differ with his words. It throbs as it looks at me. The red tip grows darker with each second as blood pools there. The veins at the sides of the python’s length also coil and writhe as he grows longer. Thicker. Closer. Readying to eat me alive.

  So why do I want to reach out and touch it? Why do I have the urge to pet it and give it a name? Peter the Python. Anthony the Anaconda. Lenard the Lady Killer. Frankie the Fucking Big Dick Monster.

  “Now you see why I won’t have sex with you,” Virius says.

  He shoves his dick back into his pants. It’s a two hand job. The large, reddened flesh definitely fights him as he wrestles it back below his waistband.

  It does not go. He heaves a sigh of frustration as he gives up the battle with his zipper. Instead of continuing the wrestling bout, Virius yanks the threadbare sheet over his waist.

  I can still see the clear outline beneath the cloth. Frankie pulses with life. Still writhing, coiling, and pulsing. I would swear it’s trying to get closer to me.

  Anacondas aren’t as dangerous as Hollywood movies and documentaries make them out to be. Snakes, large or small, aren’t aggressive creatures. They generally go out of their way to avoid large animals, especially humans. If they attack, it’s because they feel threatened. Or they’re hungry.

  The thing in Virius’s pants continues to move, tenting the sheets, as he stretches his hands behind his head and grins up at me.

  “You are small and tiny, just a wee thing. Your cunny would split in two if the beast got too close.”

  Said cunny pulses and clenches as I continue to stare at his covered midsection. Then my mind replays his words and my lady bits’ desires get pushed to the back of my thoughts. “Did you just call me small? Tiny? And wee?”

  I straighten from my crouch to my full height. So maybe I’m nowhere near the six and a half feet of Virius’s height. I’m barely at his eye level as he lounges back on the cot.

  Taking a few
steps toward him, I retrieve my dagger. I flip it in my palm, catching the handle and aiming the pointy end at him. Virius grins at my show of violence.

  “And fierce.” He grins down at the dagger in my hand. “You would gut me if I let you.”

  If he let me? Does he not see who has the upper hand here? Clearly, in my upper hand is a blade that I just demonstrated I know how to use. Like I said, he isn’t the first Anaconda I’ve ever seen.

  “You are a treasure,” Virius says.

  That rankles. I’ve been told all my life that I am special. That my womb is sacred. Its purpose is to free my people and bring us wealth and happiness. And for that belief, I—along with my magical, virgin vagina—am a treasure.

  But at the way Virius says the word treasure, I don’t feel burdened by another’s desires of me. His gaze asks nothing of me. He looks at me with delight. With amusement. Like he wants to play with me.

  The boys I grew up with never wanted to play with me. The girls, either. Treasures are coveted, looked at, not handled in fun.

  The blade in my hold falters at my thought of having a little enjoyment. Not out of duty or a sacred rite—which by the way were never any laughs. I’ve never enjoyed blowing off steam for no good reason.

  “What can I do to please you?”

  I blink my eyes a few times to bring Virius back into focus. My mind must have drifted. Did he just ask me what I want?

  “I’m not giving you my cock.” He ticks off that item with his thumb, and said thumb is just as blunt as said cock. His long index finger joins his thumb as he continues his list. “You don’t want me to give you my land. Tell me what I can do to bring you pleasure.”

  His words make no sense. It has to be some kind of trick. He’s trying to make a ploy to escape. “You’re trapped. You know that, right?”

  Virius looks around the cave he walked into last night as though seeing it for the first time. The rocky walls are a smooth, slate gray. The cot and threadbare sheets are the only furnishings in the room. Behind me is a locked door that opens from the outside.