The Assassin's Pet

By Nana G

Gay erotic fantasy. Camille is a vampire who cannot kill, no matter how desperate his situation becomes. Faced with starvation and shunned by his natural family, he finds a solution to his problems in Damien, a professional assassin who belongs to the legendary Sulis Brotherhood. Camille offers Damien his services, his loyalty and his submission in exchange for regular meals and protection that the assassin will surely have no trouble providing for. Damien accepts the proposal, not realising how the vampire will change his life forever.

Warnings: mild BDSM content, explicit sex

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nana G
• Release date: Jan 4, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310868450

Nana G

I write what I love to read, and probably that's why I ended up writing gay BDSM stories. BDSM is a fascinating subject, because the emotional and psychological aspect of the practice just invites a story to be written. I have done a lot of research into the practice. However, I believe that art is more than a mere reflection of reality and I rely on my imagination most when I write my stories. I endeavor to create something unique and memorable.

Book preview

The Assassin’s pet

By Nana G

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2016 Nana G

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Epilogue

Chapter One

Had he been able to foresee his future, Camille might, just might, have been better prepared for a life as a predator. Unfortunately, no one planned their life for such an eventuality and he was no exception to the rule.

Growing up, Camille had been the pampered heir of a minor nobleman. His life had been comfortable, if not luxurious. There was never a moment where he felt the pangs of hunger pains nor did he ever suffer anything more than minor discomforts after his occasional sword practice or horse riding lessons. Despite his natural talent and the fact that his mother was a renowned mage, he had never bothered to learn any magic that was not in some way entertaining; the practice of magic simply meant something to relieve the boredom of an idle country life.

The only magical skill that could potentially aid him in his never ending quest for human blood was to paralyze his would-be victims, and that advantage would last no more than several heartbeats. Hunting in the various villages surrounding his old home, the place where he was born and spent twenty seven subsequent years, was out of the question. His glowing red eyes and the bluish tint to his otherwise natural skin were indisputable proof of what he had become.

No, it was rather apparent that he was ill equipped to cope with his new lifestyle and it wasn’t merely because he’d been a vampire only for a week. Still, he figured he could have had it worse. At least his ability to teleport helped him to survive so far in the wild, even though the nausea and tiredness often accompanying such an exercise were unpleasant. Unlike he had been led to believe, the sun did not burn him. It, however, weakened him; he could barely stand in the rays of the sun, which made him doubt that he could fight if provoked or flee if confronted. It was vital that he remained hidden in the shadows during the daylight hours.

All things considered, the odds for his continued existence shouldn’t be all that bleak. That was, if only he could overcome his inability to kill.

It wasn’t that he thought killing people was wrong. He understood that humans would happily see him burn to death and while he couldn’t blame them for their fear and hatred towards his kind, their values were no longer his own. It was just that he couldn’t quite bring himself to take a life, even though he knew he had to drink human blood in order to live. It was rather like he was unwilling to slay an animal during his hunting trips while he was happy to eat the meat of the same animal slain by other hunters.

It was a horrible and messy business, killing. Understanding the necessity and letting others do it was one thing, taking a life with his own hands quite another. His reluctance to kill was not about morals and ideals; it had always been about an emotional reaction, an irrational one for that matter, something like a phobia that he’d rather do without.

Becoming a vampire condemned him to a lonely existence and his inability to finalize hunting meant he was perpetually famished. But worse than the maddening hunger was the knowledge that he wouldn’t last much longer if he continued to behave like a spoiled noble who hated getting his own hands dirty. A week on an empty stomach could turn even the most devout priest of Eleros, the Lady of Compassion, into a killer, and he was no follower of Eleros.

He had to baptize his new existence in blood and there was no getting around to it.

He could do this because he must.

Muttering the words of encouragement to himself, Camille eyed a little farm house in the recently plowed fields in a small woodland pass. There was a pleasing quietness about the scene, as if nothing had changed here for centuries, as if the small way of life, of farming the land, of feeding and rearing animals, of caring for the landscape had been foremost and sacrosanct in the hearts of those that dwelt here.

The house stood amongst a scattering of small out buildings where animals were kept at night. Grazing land stretched down to a small brook where sheep gathered to drink the fresh mountain water. All was peaceful. The house itself was not old, though recently built on the site of an antiquated dwelling. One wall of the same remained, built of mud and straw and reinforced with oak beams. Windows were small and faced south – away from the winter winds that blew strong for three months in these parts. Nothing could prepare the occupants for what was to happen next and Camille felt an untimely uneasiness regarding what he was about to do.

He could detect human scent, two males upstairs and a lone female downstairs. Not so great odds, but the occupants were likely to be asleep and the next farmhouse was at least a mile away. He could try to open the front door to gain entrance, but more than likely, there would be a lock and he had no idea how to pick one. Besides, he didn’t want to make any kind of noise that might alarm those inside. He wasn’t sure about other vampires, but he definitely didn’t have the aptitude to silently move about. From this distance, he could teleport to get inside without too much effort and wait a little before gathering his wits. After that, it would be just a matter of rendering his victim immobile with his spell and sinking his fangs into the waiting flesh. He would drink his fill and then teleport his sated body back outside while the others slept.

Various things could go wrong of course but, if the worst came to worst, he could probably hold his own against some farmers who almost certainly didn’t know how to land a killing blow with an ax. He was a competent swordsman, even if his blade had never tasted blood. In any case, he didn’t have much choice. His thirst was becoming unbearable with each passing minute, and only the warm fluid running down his dry throat could elevate his suffering. He brought his hands together, clasped like in a prayer, and uttered the spell that would take him to his prey.

The nauseous feeling from teleporting quickly diminished. Feeling relieved, Camille scanned the small room, tidy and furnished with the bare necessities – a bed, a set of drawers with a smoldering oil lamp on top, a wardrobe, a chair, and a brazier that would keep the winter chills away. The smell of wood smoke filled the air – though no fire burned here. A pile of reeds stood tall in one corner – brought in for drying a weaving to make baskets and kitchen tools. These were poor farmers – honest people who worked the land - tilled the soil for their own survival. A simple existence that had probably been carried through generations.

A young female was soundly asleep on a single bed next to a small window, chestnut brown hair spread out on the pillow, throat unintentionally bared. She was rather pretty with a button nose and a roundish scarlet face. Her easy expression, her steady rhythmic breathing brought easiness to the proceedings and made Camille’s task seem almost too straightforward. It was that very easiness that confounded Camille. The taking of a life with no effort, no struggle, no thought of fight or resistance – this was no robbery but – and in a bizarre way – a spiritual theft, one that would leave a hole in this small world on which he had stumbled.

A wife? Probably not, seeing that she slept alone, away from either of the males in the house. Someone’s daughter, that was sure, whether the parents were alive or not. More than likely, someone’s sister. She would be missed, unlike himself whose family had shunned him and preferred him dead.

Foolish musings. He scolded himself. A cat did not ponder the family connection of a mouse it was about to kill. He should stop thinking his potential prey as individuals with their own hopes and dreams.

Letting his magicka flow to his fingertips, he approached the woman cautiously, his eyes resolutely fixed on the inviting neck. He could do this. He would do this.

Camille bent his torso over the woman, resting one elbow on the bed for balance. Mercifully, the bed didn’t creak and his unsuspecting prey remained asleep. That was surely a good sign; all he had to do now was to touch her with his right hand and then… Only, his hand wouldn’t stop trembling.

Just a little touch and one little bite. Once he tasted blood, everything should fall into place. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to place his hand on the woman’s shoulder and whispered the words that would prevent her from struggling. He could feel the muscle beneath his palm begin to harden. The spell was working and he knew what that meant. He should do it now before she could scream for help. But the flesh his lips touched was so soft, so alive that he couldn’t quite bring himself to tear it with his fangs.

Just get on with it. You incompetent fool.

He opened his mouth and then closed it, teeth chattering in frustration. A sob escaped his dry, parched lips.

How did you get inside?

Camille would have jumped away from the sleeping female, had it not been for the tip of the blade pressed on the side of his neck. Fear and confusion held him in a state of paralysis, rendering him unable to understand the question, let alone reply to it. How could he not hear the man enter the room? How did he fail to detect the sign of another life approaching him? Farmers did not practice magic, did they?

No, the secrets of magic have been well guarded among the members of the mages’ guild. Only the very talented or the rich had access to the schooling of magic. The simple answer would be that his attention had been elsewhere – with the female and his futile internal monologue.

The razor sharp edge teased his flesh, a persuasive reminder that he was asked a question.

I… I thought you were sleeping.

The man laughed, low, soft reverberation of amusement. It was a pleasing sound, causing him to momentarily forget that his life was in serious danger. It made him feel warm inside, a sensation he had nearly forgotten.

I do not conduct business affairs while sleeping, but that doesn’t answer my question, does it? I asked how you got in.

Business affairs? At home? Had he been entertaining a prospective buyer of his crops or something? But there was no light coming from inside the stone house. And why did he merely sound curious? A man would become fearful, perhaps enraged at the presence of an intruder. He couldn’t detect any sign of such sentiments.

Think, Camille. Think. He needed more time to recover his magicka enough to escape his unfortunate situation. They said that knife injury alone could not kill a vampire but it would probably hurt like hell – it was supposed to weaken the strength of his kind. He didn’t particularly want to find out whether it did. Besides, the man might simply choose to behead him, which would surely be the end of him.

What difference would my answer make? Aren’t you going to kill me? Or hand me over to the guards?

The man laughed again, as though Camille greatly amused him.

Should you answer my question truthfully, I have a reward for you, vampire. There is a fresh kill upstairs.

He could feel the man withdraw his sword and chanced a glance. This man was no farmer; farmers did not wear hooded black robes. His half shadowed face was beautiful; an angular face, prominent cheekbones, a straight nose, a strong jawline and sensual lips. A smile lingered on that attractive face, but his eyes were unmistakably sharp. They were the eyes of a predator, a killer. Suddenly, everything clicked into place.

An assassin.

Before his rebirth as a vampire, the identity of this stranger would have troubled him. Now, it had a calming effect instead, enough to give him a presence of mind to focus on something other than the man and his immediate surroundings. He sniffed the air and could smell the faint but intoxicating scent of recently spilled blood. His assassin wasn’t just beautiful. He was deadly as well, well-versed in his own craft; he hadn’t heard any signs of struggle from upstairs.

I teleported.

A useful skill, one I haven’t had the opportunity to learn, the man sounded almost impressed. Now, go and get your meal while it is still warm.

Camille rose to his feet and hurried to the door in search of the blood that would quench his desperate hunger. At last, nothing stood between him and his meal. Except…

He had forgotten to thank the assassin; he was certain he would have left this place with an empty belly, had it not been for the other man’s timely visit to the remote farmhouse. Being famished was no excuse for forgetting good manners. He turned towards the man in the robe, his face flustered with shame.

The assassin merely raised one eyebrow.

Thank you. I’m Camille, Camille Adnet… not that my family name matters any more. He spoke quickly, slightly breathless.

The robed man did not answer him. Instead, he nodded his acknowledgement with what appeared like a rueful smile and clicked his fingers. His tall, lean frame instantly dissolved into the surrounding darkness, leaving a trail of glistening blue magicka that was a sign of an Invisibility spell.

Camille ran towards the stairs, followed by a fading echo of another alluring laugh.

***

The cave was pleasingly dark and spacious with a ceiling twice his height. With mineral rich rocks and stalactites hanging like giant teeth from up above there seemed to be a timeless presence, an appropriate aura that fed his desire for peace. One might almost call it a sanctuary, some might know it as a retreat. Its sounds, its echoes, the constant drip and trickle of water trying to escape the darkness made the solitude somehow more pleasant. A lone bed and his meager possessions neatly wrapped in a bundle lay to the rear on this cavern. It wasn’t much of a home but he still considered it a good find. Should he come across other pieces of furniture, he could create decent living quarters here. Due to its generous size, the place would never feel cramped. Even though there was no lock that could protect him from intruders, the waterfall made a splendid door that anyone would be proud of. Despite the obvious lack of any transparent security measures, it was a safe, if not comfortable, place too. No one, hopefully, would suspect that there was a shelter behind a waterfall cliff. Furthermore, there were no dangerous beasts lurking within. He could teleport back here when the pale light of the coming dawn signaled the end of the hunt for the night.

He had teleported his old bed to this place, even though it took a nerve wracking trip to his old place. He had to do it in the dead of the night and had to hide in his old closet when the effort of teleporting an object so heavy to a place so distant, probably a day’s journey by horse, left him completely out of breath for hours. He didn’t believe for one moment that his family, or rather his ex-family, would take pity on him. They had emptied his room, save for the bed. There were no pillows, no blankets. But it was better than sleeping or resting on a rocky surface. Besides, while he was stuck in the claustrophobic space unfit for a predator, ears strained to detect any sign of noise, he had the good fortune of finding a bundle inside the closet full of useful items: a couple of garments including a pair of boots, soap, large towels, a beautifully crafted dagger and, most importantly, a spell book. Perhaps, his mother wanted to give him a decent chance of survival, even if her son turned into the very kind of monster she would not hesitate to set on fire.

With water so readily available, he could afford to keep himself preened here. Even though he had no one who cared about his appearance, the idea of being covered in filth repulsed him. Moreover, the relaxing motions of splashing the water on his skin soothed his ever growing anxiety over finding the next meal. In addition, he wanted to look and smell fresh just in case of another chance encounter with his assassin.

Ever since their encounter, Camille often thought of the man, fondly recollecting his chiseled features and the blissful sound of his laughter. He had recalled their conversation many times in his head, often ending up making imaginary dialogues between them. Thinking of the man somehow kept his spirits up and gave him a rare reason to smile.

He never felt bored in his new existence; finding blood was an imperative that kept him busy during the night. He would sleep most of the daylight hours, exhausted and often hungry. The little time he had to himself, he spent studying his mother’s spell book, trying hard not to think about the old times when she had doted on him, trying not to weep over the loss of everything that had once been his.

With the aid of the book, he practiced magic, magic that would help keep him alive. He healed scratches and blisters he had managed to acquire previous nights. Truth to be told, they didn’t bother him much; his ability to endure pain seemed to have increased since his turning. But it was a useful employment of his time and each day he was getting more proficient in the use of the healing art.

No, an incompetent hunter had no time to be bored. But no matter how busy he tried to occupy his waking hours, the sense of loneliness and despair clung to him like a heavy mist that clouded his vision. Perhaps, that was why he began to think the assassin as his, as if they had some intimate connection. After all, the few words he had exchanged with the man were the only conversation he ever managed with another being since his new existence began. His assassin had not shunned him as a creature to be abhorred and destroyed, when even his ex-family treated him as such.

A vampire or not, life surely meant more than the constant strife to fight hunger and keep himself alive. He wanted companionship, an everyday contact with another sentient being. Most of all, he wanted to belong.

After two months, he still hadn’t accomplished his first kill. He had been to the farmhouse where he first tasted blood a few more times, but he just couldn’t go through with what should have been the easiest kill. After repeating the same kind of miserable failure with a lone traveler on his hunting ground, he’d finally come to the conclusion that his best chance for survival was to find those who were recently murdered by someone else.

A scavenger, that’s what he had become, searching not for a beating heart, but for one that ceased pumping. While it helped him to continue his miserable existence, meals were scarce and he was slowly losing his strength. He really needed to be adopted by someone who killed on a regular basis.

Cupping his palms, he collected enough water from the waterfall to cool his chapped lips. He was getting thinner, skin and bones, unsightly. He had been told he was handsome, had been admired for his well-defined features. He doubted that anyone would find him attractive at his current state. It would only get worse if he could not change his fortune before long. He needed to somehow find his assassin and persuade him to keep him around.

But why would he want your company? You would just inconvenience him. He wouldn’t be interested in keeping your wretched ass alive.

Perhaps he needs a servant and a warm body readily available for his use.

You never served anyone. Besides, he might prefer the ladies.

I could learn and he might not have time to flirt with women. Pleasure is pleasure.

Camille refused to succumb to the nagging doubt and a sense of insecurity at the back of his mind. Having been a nobleman whose whims had been eagerly anticipated and catered for by the