by Renee Rose
I just had the best orgasm of my life, and all he did was bite me.
Epilogue
Dear Diary,
Giving up writing for a year is going to be too hard, so I have decided to keep a diary so that I don’t have to. We won’t be back in Tucson in time for this year’s All Hallows’ Eve events. I am sad about that, but in a way, it is bittersweet. This year, I will be in the process of turning into a vampire. Yes, you read that correctly, a vampire. Yes, they exist. I know. Shocked me, too. I am about to spend six months without sunlight… have I gone insane? Probably.
These past nine months have been challenging. I sold my house and tendered my resignation at work. Bentley and I got married, he did that for me, a custom that made me feel a bit more normal. My family and friends think we are going on an extended honeymoon. If only they knew. You know, some people worry about marriage changing a person. In my case, the change is going to be eternal. I am literally changing species.
After our wedding, the shit hit the fan in Arizona, and Bentley ended up having to make several trips back there to help Erik with a crazy monster. This dude is something out of a horror movie. But, don’t worry, there is a girl involved and Erik has a distraction from his vengeance. I really like her. I think we will become good friends, that is, when I get back to the States.
It is absolutely gorgeous here in Norway. The mountains are breathtaking. Do you know that narwhals are real? For real, real? I saw one last week! In real life! Bentley took me out on a whale watching trip to prove to me that they are not mythical creatures. Speaking of Bentley, in true Bentley fashion, he left no detail unplanned. In the castle, every single one of my needs and wants are taken care of. I could hardly believe the amount of work he put in to make sure I am comfortable. He has everything here for me, even my favorite snacks were imported.
Speaking of snacks… You know, some people stock up for the winter by filling a deep freeze with meat, and a pantry with staples like flour and sugar. Not us, we have a walk-in butcher’s freezer, full of bags of ethically sourced human blood. Yikes. I haven’t tasted blood yet, other than the time I cut my finger and stuck it into my mouth. The thought makes my stomach turn. It is not something that I am looking forward to, but I am sure I will get over it—he assures me I will acquire the taste at my turning.
Bentley is giving me a bit more time to ease into things. We decided we would make the transition on the anniversary of my collaring, isn’t that romantic? The day he asked me to be his with this gorgeous, if not heavy, collar, the day he took his first bite of my flesh, first taste of my blood, is also going to be the day that I become a vampire.
One thing is for sure. All Hallows’ Eve will always have a very special place in my heart,
XXOO
Keri
The End
About the Author
RJ Gray romanticizes life with a slightly kinky mind by writing Explosively Hot Romance novels. She resides in Virginia with her husband, two young sons, and naughty rescue pup. Her hobbies include whipping up delicious meals, capturing life’s beauty with her camera, and spending time in the strong arms of her husband of fifteen years.
RJ brings her over two decades of experience in BDSM and domestic discipline to the page, writing books with dominant alpha males and feisty, stubborn females. She holds college degrees in both social work and criminology, topics that can often be found in her novels. Having spent the past fifteen years married to a military bomb technician, she has a passion for military and veteran causes.
Feel free to contact her at: [email protected]
Also by RJ Gray
His Vampire Princess
Ines Johnson
Chapter 1
“The reports are in, Councilman Durand,” says my policy advisor. “They’re not good.”
I clench my fists as I sit back at my desk. The piece of furniture is small and made of cheap wood. There is a series of chips around the edges that have caused snags on my expensive suits one too many times. Grooves of graphite from my predecessors who wanted to leave their mark on this city and its community can be found in the drawers. I tighten my hold around the pen in my hand, wondering if I should do the same thing. Because it might not be my desk for much longer.
“You’ve slipped in the polls.”
Polling for local elections was laughable. Less than twenty percent of any given city, town, or municipality came out to vote for the seats of mayors, council members, or board members. Though I serve a diverse constituency of coeds and soccer moms, indigenous peoples and rednecks, scholars, and prostitutes, very few of them know my name or what I’ve done for them.
I funneled more money over into the education budget that allowed each child in Tucson to have a computer in the classroom. I filled every reported pothole over the last two years. I lowered the residents’ taxes and balanced the budget, putting the city in the black.
The city hasn’t seen this kind of economic boom in years, maybe even decades. But I’m about to lose my place in this worn seat and crumbling desk, all because of a photo. A reporter had captured a shot of me walking out of an underground sex club late one night a few weeks ago.
“We just need to highlight your good work; remind the people why they voted for you four years ago.”
They voted for me because of my family name. The Durand Vineyard is a generations-old establishment in Arizona, and I’m its prince. I’ve lived all twenty-five years of my life on a strait-laced path, much like the rows of grapes on my family’s land. I had been groomed to take over from my father and run the business alongside my two sisters. But on my first day of high school, I happened into the school library and stumbled upon a student government meeting.
Seeing Robert’s Rules of Order at work had fascinated my mind. I was used to straight rows of vines, predictable harvest times, and the precise measurements of wine blends. I liked things old, orderly, and results-oriented. By the following year, I was the class vice president. Every year that followed, I was elected president.
Before this scandal, I was on the trajectory to become city mayor. I had my sights set on congressman. But even though the story only ran on the second page of the local rag, my future is now blurred. Likely less than ten percent of my constituency read the papers, but it is enough to potentially lose my seat. All because of a photograph that’s been taken out of context.
“Perhaps a new video ad where we show the people your clean-cut image to help detract from—”
My gaze shoots up. The young man before me squirms. He was an intern not long ago. I elevated him to this position when I saw his hunger as a political animal.
He thinks he’s dealing with a man’s base needs. I don’t have those. I’m not a saint, but I’m as close to it as any modern man could get.
Despite what that gossip rag printed, I’ve never had group or public sex. I’ve never taken my clothes off outside of a locked bedroom with the lights off. I’ve only had sex with two women, and not at the same time. Charlotte Pratt and I waited three months before taking our relationship behind closed doors. With Amber Walt, who I’d thought would become Mrs. Councilman Durand, I waited six months into our committed relationship.
That photograph of me coming out of Club Toxic was not the whole picture. That salacious report of what I’d been doing inside is complete fiction. The problem is, the actual facts surrounding the story sound more like science fiction and fantasy than the voters would believe.
“Where are you going, sir?”
“To clear my name of this nonsense,” I say as I slide into my suit jacket and straighten my tie. Ever since my first election as class president, I’ve worn a suit and tie every day, except for on the weekends. Then I wear a collared shirt and pressed slacks to relax.
On the streets, the sun is starting to set. Masked goblins and witches roam from door to door. Superheroes’ capes trail behind as children run up to open doors to receive their rewards. I’d forgotten it was Halloween. I probably should
’ve dismissed my staff to go home early, but like me, they are all workaholics who live for the job.
Once in my car, I pull out of the city. Concrete buildings give way to rolling green pastures. The fields of green are spotted with the colorful heads of grapes. It’s harvest time, and many workers are out tending to the crops that will make the older citizens celebrating this festive holiday drunk in just a matter of hours.
I drive past the turn that would take me to my family’s vineyard. Memories flood my mind, of my time there with my family. My older sister Marechal, who was forever in the lab blending berries, but would always look up when I wanted to run a debate strategy past her. My baby sister Cari, who loved to color in my homemade campaign signs, insisting her color scheme would be my winning strategy.
I see both their smiling faces looking at me with trust and love. But as I wind along the road to my destination, my mind begins to fog. The curves of the lane bend. In my mind, things get dark and twisted and bloody.
Memory is a fickle thing. I remember the night I went into Club Toxic to seek out its owner, Lucius Frangelico. The billionaire was trying to purchase my family’s vineyard out from under us. I walked into a nightclub on family business, and I left a sex dungeon as a sexual deviant.
The funniest part is that, during my business meeting, everyone inside the club had been fully clothed. The young people had been rubbing up against one another in the act of sexual desire. But no one’s base needs were being totally satisfied on the dance floor. That had all been happening a floor below.
It wasn’t widely known that there was any sexual activity going on in the club. I certainly hadn’t known it the night I’d gone in. Nor when I’d come out. Which leads me to believe that Frangelico and his minions were behind my demise.
They’ve taken my family’s business. They’ve taken both of my sisters. And now they are trying to take my career.
I park my car in front of the Serrano vineyard as the last rays of the sun set. I’ve been to this house a couple of times. One such instance, I have almost forgotten. Because the Serranos have taken my memories from me.
“Arneis? Is that you?” My sister Cari’s voice comes from the other side of the door. “I can smell you from all the way inside, isn’t that crazy? But don’t worry, I already ate tonight.”
“Cari, that’s not funny,” says Marechal as she opens the great doors.
I stand on the other side of the threshold, gaping down at my sisters. They look exactly the same, but I know they are different. Like me, they both sport bite marks on their necks.
About a month ago, my baby sister got herself in a relationship with a dead man walking. That isn’t hyperbole. Hadrian Serrano is a vampire. And just a few days ago, my older sister Marechal got in bed with Serrano’s brother, Gaius. I’m convinced both of the creatures mind-wiped Cari and Mare into loving them. It is the only way my two brilliant sisters would fall for such fiends.
Cari flashes me a toothsome grin, complete with fangs. Marechal, only a couple of years older than me, gives me the maternal smile I’ve seen all my life. She hasn’t been turned. Yet.
“Come inside.” Marechal beckons.
The two women move into the dark recesses of the house. I hesitate, even though I know how the lore works. Humans don’t need an invitation to come into the realms of monsters. It’s getting out that’s the trick.
“I wish you had called first,” says Marechal. “We’re headed out. Gaius has a political meeting.”
“Political?” I say as we move into a formal living room. Doric columns frame the lit fireplace. Colorful murals line the walls around the curtained windows.
“Not with humans,” says Cari, her voice reaching the excited pitch she uses when she is about to go on an adrenaline-inducing adventure. “A vampire delegation has come from Africa to meet with the guys at Club Toxic.”
I clench my teeth at the use of the words delegation and vampire together. The word politics does not belong in the same sentence with such mindless monsters. But another thing catches my attention.
“You’re not going to that club,” I say. “Neither of you.”
“You do know she’s over twenty-one, Arneis,” says Marechal, jerking her thumb at Cari. “And it’s just a costume party. Venetian themed. It sounds like fun.”
Marechal and fun don’t usually come up in the same sentence, either. My older sister had to be dragged out from her lab up until a week ago. But our family name has been dragged enough, thanks to Frangelico and the Serranos.
“You don’t know what happens at Club Toxic,” I say.
“Do you?” says Cari. Her large brown eyes are no longer that of a child’s. The tilt of her eyebrow says that she could answer her own question. What has that devil Hadrian gotten my sister into?
Even though I know what she now is, I still have trouble reconciling the fact that my baby sister is a blood-sucking monster. My hand goes to the bite on my shoulder. My entire body flinches as I touch it.
Cari’s gaze goes solemn as she witnesses what I’m doing. Guilt wracks her features. “They’re not all like that, Arnie.”
She’s referring to the bloodsucker who attacked us both weeks ago. I’ve only recently begun to remember the white-haired demon, Domitia. Before that, I’d only seen her in my nightmares because the Serranos had taken the memories of her biting me and of her kidnapping Cari from me. But those two vampires didn’t realize just how strong a mind like mine is.
I remembered. Now I need to find a way to let everyone in the town—everyone in the world—know what walks amongst us. I need to find a way to expose them—the Serranos, Frangelico-—or what they are.
But how?
“Plans have changed, ladies.” Gaius Serrano steps into the formal room. The man is dressed in a silk robe that likely cost more than the city budget I balanced. “Queen Malika moved our meeting to tomorrow. So we can go back to bed. Ah, Arneis. Would you like to come in for dinner?”
Serrano’s gaze spreads wide. The flash of his white teeth sends me back in time to the blinding pain when that crazed bitch sank her teeth into my neck and ripped my skin. My hand goes back to cover my neck, and I take a step back.
“You’re not getting a bite out of me.”
“Arneis,” Marechal says. “Manners.”
“It’s fine, minou,” says Gaius. “Do not fear, my brother. I only eat your sister now.”
“Gaius,” says Marechal. “Manners.”
“I’m not your brother.”
Gaius doesn’t argue with me. My sisters look disappointed that I didn’t take the ancient Roman’s olive branch. I’ve never gotten into bed with the corrupt, and I don’t plan to now.
“I have some place I need to be,” I say. “I’ll call before I come over next time.”
“Are you sure you can’t stay, Arnie?” says Cari.
She looks so much like herself, but I can feel a new strength in her. It’s unnatural.
“I’ll call you later,” I say. “There’s something I have to do.”
I hop in my car and drive out of the property. I know exactly what I have to do. There will be a gathering of vampires inside Club Toxic tonight. I’m going to get in and gather proof to expose them. But my evidence will be the light of truth, and not a photo out of context.
If I can push the vampires out of the closet, then I can clear my name. My constituents will know I’m not the deviant with unnatural lusts that gossip rag made me out to be. They’ll be able to see for themselves that there truly are things that go bump in the night. I’ll be raised back to my former glory in the eyes of the twenty-percent I need to get reelected. Hell, I might even be able to aim for higher office.
Chapter 2
“It’s much grayer than I expected,” I say as I peer down, out of the window of the luxury hotel in Tucson, Arizona. “And flat.”
Slate towers scrape the azure horizon, reminding me of the step pyramids of Egypt. Instead of the vibrant natural hues like oranges and reds and
browns, these buildings are varying shadows in the night. The only hint of color is the mountain that sits off in the distance. Its carob peak is a backdrop to remind these humans that they are insignificant, temporary guests on this planet.
“What did you expect, Sanai? They still can’t figure out how my aunts and uncles built the pyramids.”
I chuckle as I turn to Fayola. Her tiny braids are coiled tightly around her head. Not a single strand has gone astray, even as she wakes to this new night, very unlike my own hair that is wild and free. My thick tufts of hair radiate from my head like the rays of the sun; rays I haven’t seen in almost two hundred years.
“I only hope the queen finishes her business quickly so we can get back to civilized society,” Fay says as she glides away from the window.
The gold bangles which cover the lengths of her arms make a tinkling sound, like a fanfare of bells announcing royalty is present. The gold accents warm her toasty brown skin. Her eyes are kohled in the way of her ancient ancestors. Her simple white sheath molds to her svelte form. Her head is high atop her long, ibis-like neck. The people here would call her a swan. She has the beauty and grace of the bird.
“Perhaps the Queen Mother will let us go on an excursion to Hollywood,” I say.
Fay’s regal features turn sour. “Why would we want to go there?”
I don’t bother to respond. Fay doesn’t like to travel anywhere outside of Orun, the hidden queendom in the heart of the Saharan desert. The seat of power of the vampire queen, Malika.
