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Strauss opened his eyes to meet…darkness. A blindfold instead of his glasses, the size just right. He wondered if it were not right, whether the Sabbat would change the item or his face. Maybe they would prefer to gauge his eyes out, but chose to wait until he became conscious.
“Greetings, usurper.” Said the voice with an Eastern European accent, coldly, “Now you are in the house of Andrei, childe of Anica, childe of Carla, childe of Ionut, childe of the White God, childe of Tzimisce. Pity your chantry has already been burnt to ground; otherwise I would gladly treat you to the great sight of the fire.”
It was telling the truth, Strauss realized with a grief, for if the chantry still stood, the Tzimisce would surely say that the regent will be there to see its final fall, even if he would actually be locked here. So all the efforts, gargoyles clashing with creations of the flesh-sculptor, magic cast and blood shed, all in vain. He might have good reasons to clench his fingers, were they not carefully restrained digit by digit. His wrists were also tied by thin but tough lines, attached to… a huge X cross or something like that, metal structure, judging by what he could feel.
“I guess I have to thank my host, for he allows his guest to talk.”
“You are definitely not my guest, and it does me no good to silence you.” corrected the voice, “A well collected mask just makes it more appealing to see you fall apart.”
A single creature like this was worse than a herd of brutal beasts, the Tremere thought. For a few moments, he felt the rejected mind-bomb laughing at him from memories. Then he considered what to do now. Cold as Andrei sounded, he was to torture Strauss out of a hot hatred, so he might be infuriated and end him in a quicker way, with a little push…
“That sounds just like a girl who desperately wants to sleep with her professor.” He tried his best to speak in a mocking tone. Something he did extremely rarely.
Clawed hand caught his face and fixed his jaw.
“We old landlords are always willing to teach,” the sharp and cold nail of the thumb touching his lower lip, the Tzimisce’s voice lower, “to tell our subjects that saying something improper may sometimes cause a delay, rather than acceleration, of the quick death you want.” Then the other’s presence got near and kissed him, the lips feeling like anything except human. The tongue invaded his mouth and circled slowly, as if to taste him with ease.
Disgusting. The only reason Strauss did not bite that grinding tongue and spit on his face was that there might be chance to get away. If Andrei could bear the same disgust he must felt to kiss a Tremere, then he would not kill him very soon, and the more time given, the more possible ways Strauss might come up with.
So very slowly Andrei played with him before glided his tongue out, licked his lips, and slid down the skin of his chin. A strong hand forced his head to roll back, long and monstrous fingers pressing on the blindfold, little sharp tips of Andrei’s fangs on his neck, so dangerously close.
No breath, nor pulse, nor warmth indicating life, but in a corner of his mind, Strauss knew the appeal of the most deadly entertainment in the world, to share one’s blood with a life-drinking monster.
He sank into the sweet void reluctantly when the fangs pierced his skin. His body lost its own strength and relied heavily on the metal cross and the restriction, but neither the friction of bone armor against his chin nor the painfully tight lines against his skin existed-they all became meaningless compared to the pleasure of being fed on by another.
There were no other things at all, but two tiny points from where the damned ecstasy flooded over and drowned him.
Strauss wondered when he was not able to wonder about anything, why he was turning weak and why the pleasure began to fade away? Every instruction from his reasonable mind went to nowhere and his body simply wanted more. Then the Beast growled hungrily in his soul.
Andrei must control himself so extremely well to stop that even the attraction of diablerie could not rewrite his wish to see Strauss suffered longer.
The fire that burnt his sanity just now left a distracting warmth where Andrei bit him. Even when he needed blood now, it still tempted him to seek the same feelings again.
So stories were true. This is addictive. Strauss straightened himself and reassumed his calm façade. The Beast screamed to abandon everything but desire for fresh blood, but he had to fight the Tzimisce with his brain.
Andrei bit again to his great surprise, and it almost shocked him paler if it were possible to realize his tormentor transfused vitae back to his veins. The course was not terrible itself, but it took him off guard. His body was sensitive to any supply at this moment, the normally inaudible noise of liquid flowing through capillary vessels played his nerves.
Sounds so comfortable.
The Tzimisce repeated drinking him and refilling him with his own blood, until he gasped in protest when the fangs left his flesh.
“Once more, you would beg me to feed on you.” Andrei whispered to his ear, “Good for those who created their clan on someone else’ skeleton isn’t it?”
“Once more,” the victim replied in a weak but clear enough voice, “you will lose it and kill me right away and thus fail your original purpose. That also matches a clan infamous for their brutal cruelty, doesn’t it?”
A deep roar rose from the tormentor.
Strauss waited in silence and finally there came Andrei’s laughter.
“Now the city needs my attention, but there will be time…” Strauss heard the voice moving, a little further from him now, “and we have centuries’ accumulation of techniques and tools that deserve an acquaintance with you, Maximillian.”