It seems that that boy-band boy really was a boy. Seventeen to be exact. Jasmine was working on her second interview with him when they were caught in the front seat of her BMW.
I dropped the magazine back onto the coffee table. “Tell Carmen she can shove it up her—”
“Oh, call waiting. Got to go.”
I chuckled as Serena hung up. It felt good to laugh again. It had taken me a few months before I could even smile. Now, life was starting to look up.
I hardly ever thought of Jonathan. Well, once or twice a day wasn’t so bad. At least I didn’t collapse into a sobbing puddle of goo anymore. Nope, that problem was definitely fixed. And no more gorging on chocolate cake and double fudge chocolate ice cream. I even lost the five pounds I had gained.
Yup, things were looking good.
I glanced out the balcony windows and noticed the sun shining and the birds chirping. It was such a beautiful day, I thought I’d grab a cup of coffee at the Java House down the street. Just one of the many joys of being a freelance writer. It would be even better if I ever were paid from my work. Well, fist things first. Strong coffee.
I strolled back down the street with my large double espresso in hand. I passed a newsstand on the way. I paused and glanced at the magazines. My eyes rested on Newsweek. Once again, Jonathan was on the cover.
I picked up the copy and glanced at the story byline. Devane Communications Moves to Calgary. Opens Major Publishing House. Well, he did it. I was happy for him. I set the magazine back and continued on my way.
I stopped a few feet away, turned around, ran back, and bought the magazine. I rolled it up in my hand and told myself it was because there was a very informative story on E-Coli that I wanted to read. It was becoming quite the problem in fast food restaurants.
That night, Serena and I, and a couple other girlfriends hit a club to celebrate my newly minted career of being a full time writer. It was good to be out and about. The last time I’d been at a club, was, well, the night I try not to think about anymore.
I’d just taken a sip of my daiquiri when the best dub-step song blasted from the speakers. I had to dance. I set my glass down and went out on the floor. I was grooving to the beat when I felt someone’s gaze on me. A shiver rushed down my spine.
I turned to find the source.
The crowd had parted behind me, and Jonathan stood there on the dance floor watching me.
I stopped and stared. My heart thumped hard in my chest. I put a hand to my throat as I could hardly breathe. I suddenly felt very dizzy. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to run to him and jump into his arms. But I wasn’t sure if he’d catch me, or let me fall to the floor like a ragdoll.
So instead of making a decision, I walked away. Ran actually. To the bathrooms. I didn’t actually go into the ladies room, because there was a line-up as usual. Instead I wandered down a deserted hall.
“Going somewhere?”
I didn’t turn at his voice, but rested my forehead against the cool cement wall. “Maybe.”
He moved toward me. It was slow and animal like. As if he was narrowing in on his prey. I swallowed audibly as my heart skipped a few beats. And I couldn’t stop my belly from flipping or my thighs from clenching.
I had to tamp down the urge to just roll over and expose my belly in surrender. Or in this case, I guess my neck.
I didn’t look behind me, but I could feel him against my back. He was barely a foot away from me. His scent filled my nose and I fully admit to sighing in pleasure. The man was potent. And I would never get him out of my system.
I was addicted to Jonathan Devane.
“Why are you here?” I asked. I thought I might as well pull off the band aid quickly instead of letting the wound fester. “Hunting for a meal?”
He laughed and the sound tickled the back of my neck sending a shiver down my spine. “I’m hunting, but not for a meal.”
“For what then?”
“A mate.”
I turned around then. “A mate? Is that vampire speak for girlfriend?”
He looked me hard in the eyes. “I appreciate that you didn’t tell anyone about my…condition.”
“I didn’t tell anyone, anything about you. I couldn’t. I resigned from the magazine.”
“I know. David gave me your letter.”
“Surprise. Surprise. I thought for sure he would’ve thrown it in the trash.” I smirked. “Where is your Renfield by the way?”
“Renfield.” He smiled. “I like that. Clever.”
“I have my moments.”
“I got rid of him months ago. It was because of your comments about him that I began to suspect that he didn’t have my best interests at heart.”
My eyes widened. “You killed him?”
He shook his head. “No, I didn’t kill him. I fired him.”
“Aren’t you worried he’ll like spill your secret?”
“No, I took some measures to ensure his silence.”
“You did kill him.” I mock gaped at him.
He shook his head but there was a smile on his face.
“I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m sorry I pretended to be a few other people to deceive you. I’m a bit of an ass.”
“I forgive you,” he said, then lifted his hand to my face. “But I knew it was you, Mak.”
“You did?”
“Yes. I had your taste inside me from that night in Toronto. A vampire never forgets the taste of pure bliss. It would take more than a maid’s outfit, or colored hair extensions and colored contacts for me to not recognize you.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because you seemed to be having a good time being Yvette. I didn’t want to spoil your fun. And truth be told I was having fun with you being Yvette as well.”
I shook my head. I couldn’t believe he let me pretend that whole time. While I thought I was playing him, he was playing me like a finely tuned violin.
“So, do I truly taste like bliss?” I couldn’t help the smile that blossomed on my face. How could a girl not grin at that?
He smiled. “Yes.”
“Do you want to suck my blood?” I had to ask. I mean how could you not when faced with a gorgeous vampire.
He licked his lips, then nodded. “Yes. You can’t imagine how your blood tastes on my lips.”
“Will you try and kill me?” I joked, sort of.
“No.” He chuckled. “I’m quite happy to just have a sip now and then. I’ve lasted a long time that way.”
“How long?”
He rubbed his thumb over my lips. “Let’s just say I’m well aged.”
“Wow, your number must be high.”
“Number?”
“Yeah, how many women you’ve slept with.”
“Mak, let’s just concentrate on the one woman I want to sleep with from now on.”
I smiled. “Me?”
“Yes you.”
“How is this going to work? I’m pretty sure there isn’t a manual on how to date a vampire.”
“The days are all yours. You do whatever you like.” He tugged me forward, and leaned down toward my mouth. “The nights belong to me. You are mine from sundown to sunup.” His lips were a whisper away from mine. “Is that arrangement satisfactory to you?”
“Oh hell yeah.”
I breached the small distance between us and took his mouth. I kissed him hard and long. I kissed him until he gathered me up in his arms and held me tight until we were both breathless.
When we broke apart, I looked him in the eyes and thought holy shit, I’m in love with a vampire. How weird was that? Then curiosity got the better of me and I leaned into his ear and whispered.
Jonathan laughed, then he reached down and picked me to hold me against the wall. He leaned forward and lifted his upper lip. I watched transfixed as two wicked fangs descended from behind his canines.
I reached out and touched the tips. They were sharp like needles. I pulled my hand back and giggled. My belly was cle
nching and interested things were going on between my thighs.
“Are those fangs, or are you just happy to see me?”
“What do you think?”
He leaned forward and captured me, mind, body and soul.
If you want to read more Vivi vampires, then you’ll love the Valorian Chronicles. True Blood meets CSI…
Caine Valorian and his Otherworld Crime Unit crack all the unusual cases before any humans take notice. When a young woman is found ritualistically murdered it’s his team of professionals with paranormal gifts who must stop the nameless evil stalking the streets. But the toughest case of Caine’s 200-year career gets even harder when a new member, Eve Grant, is assigned to their unit. Not only is she green and eager to impress, she’s human.
As they sink deeper into the workings of the case, Caine’s attraction to the alluring Eve is causing his blood to boil. And with war brewing between species, the all-consuming passion between a human and a vampire won’t be the only thing to spill on the city’s mean streets.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
From an early age, Vivi loved to make stuff up. Just ask her mother. Now she gets paid to do just that. Author of more than 12 books, including the award winning Valorian Chronicles from Harlequin, Vivi has plenty of stories to tell. An avid reader, talker, walker, and movie watcher, Vivi’s always on the look out for the next big thing. A lover of teen horror films, Vivi also writes screenplays and hopes to one day be the next Wes Craven. And just to confuse issues, she also writes YA under the name Tawny Stokes. Speaking of books, she reads mostly YA, urban fantasy, horror, and some thrillers. You can find her often procrastinating on twitter. If you find her there, she will help you procrastinate as well. Did she mention that procrastinating is also one of her hobbies?
@authorViviAnna
http://www.vivianna.net
MORE VIVI ANNA TITLES AVAILABLE
The Vampire series:
THE VAMPIRE AFFAIR
THE VAMPIRE DESIGN – coming soon
THE VAMPIRE AFFAIR part 3 and 4 – coming soon
Nina Decker series:
GLIMMER
DAWNING
PORTAL
Blackthorn Wolves series:
BAD TO THE BONE
HUNGRY LIKE THE WOLF
BAD MOON RISING
DARK SIDE OF THE MOON – coming soon
Valorian Chronicles:
BLOOD SECRETS
DARK LIES
VEILED TRUTH
MAHINA’S STORM
BEWITCHING HOUR
THE VAMPIRE’S QUEST
THE VAMPIRE’S KISS
HER DARK HEART
A WOLF’S HEART
The Fallen series:
HEART OF THE HUNTER
RELEASING THE HUNTER
SEDUCING THE HUNTER – coming soon
PROTECTING THE HUNTER – coming soon
League of Illusion:
LEGACY
PROPHECY
DESTINY
Young Adult books as Tawny Stokes:
STATIC
ELECTRIC
DEMONS OF THE RICH AND FAMOUS
DATING AFTER DARK (WITH CLOWNS)
AMERICA’S NEXT TOP ZOMBIE – coming soon
BOUND BY NATURE – coming soon
THE DARK’S MISTRESS
By
Michele Hauf
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real people, places, or events are not intentional and are purely the result of coincidence. The characters, places, and events in this story are fictional.
Copyright ©2013 by Michele Hauf
Chapter One
Kambriel Saint-Pierre had lived in Paris for six months. Or had it been six years? Surely, she’d come here in winter and now it was spring. The inability to track the passing days didn’t concern her.
Most of the time.
The night was slashed with vivid neon flashes. Strolling casually, Kam turned the corner in the bustling Pigalle neighborhood, the red-light district. Metal thrash music echoed out from a club fronted by a rusted door on which was carved a red X. Her lover’s hand clasped hers.
No. Not her lover. Their intimacy was defined on a level set apart from the ordinary.
You have to leave.
Innately, she knew she was trapped in the relationship. Until she relented and gave him what he demanded of her. However, he remained content so long as she did.
Was she content? He gave her everything she desired. Everything. Sometimes she received the yearned-for object before she knew she craved it, but once in hand, she couldn’t imagine life lived without it.
Hers was a good life.
The life she’d once led grew dimmer and less important in her mind, so this life she led now must be good in comparison.
Humming the tune she recognized as a heavy-metal lament to eternal darkness, Kam strolled up to a tattoo shop window. Her steel-heeled stilettos clicked smartly on the sidewalk. They lashed around her ankles with leather straps. She loved them. They matched the leather hip-hugging maxi dress slashed up one thigh to her derriere, with laddered leather straps from there up to her neck.
Looking over the brightly colored flash, she traced a particular design with a fingertip.
“You like butterflies?” her boyfriend asked, his clasp tightening about her other hand. He brushed his lips across her sleek black hair, nudging her earlobe. The scent of him had grown familiar, yet she often wondered if mortals could sense his otherness. His utter darkness.
She nodded. Butterflies epitomized freedom. Yet, as a bloodborn vampire, she wasn’t able to get a tattoo. Vampires healed so rapidly the ink never stayed in the skin long enough for it to scab over.
The growl of the distant singer scorched the night. A group of women laughed, staggering drunkenly down the sidewalk past the tattoo shop, leaving in their wake the cloying scent of cheap perfume.
“I’ve always wanted a butterfly on my shoulder,” she said dreamily. “Maybe in black and red.”
“Anything you desire, my dark angel.”
His kiss bruised Kam’s shoulder. The man’s kisses were always shockingly cold and then brutally hot. She could never refuse them, no matter how painful. And she wasn’t sure if it was because she liked the torturous kiss, or that she simply couldn’t deny him a thing.
Sometimes it felt as though her mind was not hers to direct. Yet she would continue to refuse him the one thing she kept most precious. For as long as she was able.
Kam pressed a palm to the flash featuring a delicate butterfly. At the same time a soft flutter warmed her skin. She tilted her head to eye the gorgeous artwork that had appeared on her bare shoulder. Outlined in intricate black so fine no tattoo artist could achieve such precision, it was filled in with crimson on wings that gleamed as if a living creature.
“It’s so pretty,” she said, stroking the new ink. “Another please?”
Another bruising kiss gifted her with a crimson and black butterfly, and then another, until her shoulder was crowded with the indelible artwork.
“Anything else you desire, my darkest angel?”
Hmm… He’d given her so much in form of material things. Her flat in the eighth arrondissement was filled with treasures and luxuries she might never have the time to enjoy even if she lived centuries—and she would. But all those gifts were just…stuff.
Lately, she’d grown bored. She needed something to physically do beyond wallowing in treasures, fine clothing, lavish shoes and pretty young bites.
“I’ve always wanted to sing,” she decided. “I love the heavy metal bands. The lyrics are so dark and wicked. They call to me. I’ve only ever sung in the shower. Do you think I could develop my talent?”
He spread an arm about her shoulder and hugged her against his tall, muscle-strapped form. Tonight he wore his hair long and black as hell, his pale blue eyes irresistible beacons amongst the surrounding neon glow. She preferred him to look this way—which is why he did. He always appeared to others in
human form, and as their greatest temptation, unless he purposefully deemed to show his true form.
His kissing the crown of her head sent an electric, piercing shiver down the back of her scalp. Kam sucked in a breath, her lungs expanding. A tight chill radiated through her system, clenching in her chest only to dissipate quickly.
“You have the talent now,” he assured, leading her down the sidewalk with a firm hand. “Where would you like to sing first? No. Wait. I will create the perfect venue to showcase your charms. Someplace dark and sensual yet spiked with a vexing stab of sweetness.”
“That’s me,” Kam agreed. “I do love to vex you. Send me home now, please. Call me to you when it’s ready.”
“You do love surprises. Give me a few days.”
He bent and kissed her on the cheek. No chill this time. Just the persistent wrongness she could never dispel. With a whispered command, he sent her away from him.
Kambriel landed in the black marbled foyer of her penthouse flat. Illumination from the nearby shops lining the Champs Elysees flickered in through the window at the end of the hallway. She twisted and pressed a palm to the closed door designed to replicate a medieval portal, replete with iron studs and arched framework.
Trapped.
However, she could open the door and walk out. She could go wherever she pleased in Paris. She could see whomever she chose to see, and of course, she could feed her incessant hunger with whomever she desired.
And yet, she could never escape Him.
A moment of clarity arrested her breath. She clutched her throat. Heartbeats jittered.
“Someone save me,” she whispered. “Before it’s too late.”
*
Club l’Enfer had been open six months. It was one of those gothic death-metal caves that appealed to mortals with dark fantasies and the paranormal breeds who liked to cater to those fantasies. The club had appeared out of nowhere, as if the structure had pushed up from the bowels of Paris through layers of subterranean labyrinths as if to form an aboveground lair for the very devil Himself.
The marquee advertised tonight’s band in red slash letters: The Dark’s Mistress. They were loud, raucous, grinding, and every note the lead songstress growled, wailed, or keened, vibrated in Johnny Santiago’s chest as if a titanium stake sliding gracelessly beside his heart and out through his back.
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