Branded by Sin

by Alyssa Breck

  Branded by Sin

  Alyssa Breck

  Bad Blood Empire, Book One

  Sean Black’s penchant for sex, drugs and rock ’n’ roll turns deadly when Christy, his occasional bed partner, takes their sexual shenanigans one step too far. There’s blood. Lots of blood. And the next time Sean wakes up, there’s even more on his hands—but not his own. Turns out Christy is a vampire, and the newly turned Sean is forced to watch her execution at the hands of her own mate, Giacomo Francelli.

  Thus began Sean’s initiation into the Bad Blood Empire.

  Twenty years later, Sean is comfortable with life as a BBE member, hunting bad paranormals and dating Lila, a sweet human who provides him enough sex to kill an average man. But his cozy life is turned upside down when Giacomo becomes an assassin’s target. Lila gets caught in the crossfire, trusts are betrayed, loyalties tested…your basic all-hell-breaking-loose scenario. When the dust settles, the BBE issues an ultimatum for Lila. And that’s when Sean’s real troubles begin…

  A Romantica® paranormal erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

  Branded by Sin

  Alyssa Breck

  Dedication

  For Jason Swinton, a voice silenced too soon.

  Acknowledgments

  Many thanks to the people who helped and encouraged me with this story. But particularly, thanks go to Carrie Clevenger, Amy Burgess and Charlote Hodge. I couldn’t have done it without you.

  Contents

  Cover

  Blurb

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  About Alyssa Breck

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Prologue

  Los Angeles, 1991

  Sean rolled the dollar bill into a tight tube and leaned over the two lines of cocaine. A knock on the door interrupted him and he crossed the room to see who was there, leaning down to look through the peephole.

  He’d forgotten about inviting her over. She waved at him as if she knew he was looking. Chestnut curls framed a heart-shaped face and pouty pink lips. Pretty. What was her name? Crissy? Christy? Christina?

  Didn’t matter. She only came over to fuck. She didn’t smoke or drink or get high with him. Her addiction seemed to be sex—rough sex, to be more specific, and he was more than happy to supply her.

  He’d met her after a one-night gig playing guitar in a Metallica tribute band. She’d seen the show and was waiting in the parking lot when he left. Why she would want to fuck a guy in a tribute band was beyond him, but he wasn’t about to turn her down. He’d nailed her about ten minutes later in the front seat of his car and was instantly hooked. On her pussy, that is. She was so different from the girls he messed around with back in the suburbs of Dallas. She was like playing with fire.

  He opened the door and beckoned her inside. “Hey.” Following her toward the couch, he watched her ass. “Want a drink?” His apartment was small, with nothing much in the way of furnishings. A secondhand sofa and a time-scarred coffee table. A small black-and-white television sat on a red milk crate. That was the extent of his décor. For a bachelor, he kept the place pretty clean, a throwback to being raised by a neat-freak stay-at-home mother who baked cookies almost every day. His mom would definitely scoff at the mismatched sheets on his bed and the fact that he had to use aluminum foil on the rabbit ears of his TV to get all of three channels.

  The girl shook her head in response to his offer of a drink and smiled. “Maybe later.” Bright-blue eyes with long black lashes gave her an angelic appearance. On the contrary, she was anything but an angel. If she had a halo, it would double as a choke collar.

  Sean liked her because there were no strings attached. She never asked for money or drugs like some of the other girls he fucked. She never begged for attention or told him she loved him. She just borrowed his dick and then left. How perfect was that?

  The arm of the couch groaned in protest as she plopped down on it and dropped her bag on the floor. “Put on some music.” She had a slight accent that he couldn’t identify, and only on certain words.

  His apartment was situated over a small Mexican market that was closed at this hour so nobody would be disturbed by him blasting some tunes. “What do you want to hear?”

  “Guns N’ Roses?”

  “Sure.” He dug through the shoebox that held his musical library, slipped the white cassette tape into the stereo and turned up the volume. It started in the middle of Welcome to the Jungle.

  Over the last few months, his hook-ups with her had desensitized him in certain ways. Initially, he’d shied away from some of her requests but cocaine was an excellent anesthetic for the conscience and he’d never done anything she hadn’t asked for. She wanted things that normal girls were afraid of. That, in and of itself, was exciting. Flirting with the taboo became their norm. He’d tied her up, held her down, choked her, fucked her in the ass, whatever she wanted. And, Jesus, he’d never had a girl who came with such intensity.

  She slipped off the arm of the couch and onto the cushion then kicked off her black sandals. “So, what’s new, Sean?”

  “Not much.” He got on his knees in front of the coffee table and snorted a line of coke off the square piece of chipped mirror. He rubbed his nose and turned around to face her. “How have you been?”

  She shrugged. “Okay. Same old, same old.” The conversations between them never progressed much beyond the basic niceties. He had no idea where she lived or what she did for a living and didn’t really care. The buttons on her shirt strained beneath her ample cleavage. She released the top one, revealing the edge of a red, lacy bra. Not much could have pulled his eyes away from her chest. He knew what was just below that scalloped bra cup—tiny pink nipples, probably hard already. She had amazing tits.

  The chain on the ceiling fan clanked against the frosted glass light cover and she stared up at it. She looked as if she’d just stepped out of the pages of a magazine. Her fingernails were painted a shiny pink and she smelled like roses.

  The coke hit his brain and she split into a set of twins. His mind wandered to what having two of her at once would be like. One sitting on his lap, the other on his face. He smiled and blinked his eyes rapidly, pulling her back into focus.

  “You should fix that.” She brought her eyes back to him and pointed toward the ceiling. Tilting her head to the side, she twirled her hair around her finger.

  Christy. That was her name. He remembered it as he slid his hand up her bare thigh and under her skirt. No panties. Her pussy was hot, wet, slippery. His heart hammered. “Fix what?”

  She placed her hand over his and licked her top lip. “Never mind.” Her legs fell open more and he pushed her skirt up. He was grateful to whoever invented the miniskirt; easy fucking access.

  The sight of her smooth mound had his cock throbbing. He spread her lips and rubbed the pad of his finger over her clit. Good thing she wasn’t oversensitive because the cocaine made him a little jittery and heavy handed.

  She lifted her hips in response and sighed.

  He rose up on his knees and his head spun. Grabbing her thighs, he steadied himself then pulled her ass to the edge of the couch.

  He didn’t hesitate—he buried his face in her pussy. Two fingers fit snugly inside her and he wiggled them around, drawing a deep moan from her. She held his head with both hands and her pussy undulated against his face. She panted in quick breaths.

  He sucked and nibbl
ed her clit, feeling the telltale pulse of her orgasm. Her pussy tightened more on his fingers and he wanted to fuck her, but he knew he had to wait until she was finished.

  She came hard and pulled his hair. Her whole body trembled and she moaned in a low growl.

  He pulled his fingers out of her and stuck his tongue inside, licking and sucking her wetness. He got his fill and sat back on his feet. “You taste amazing.” His cock strained painfully against the zipper of his jeans.

  She smiled and unbuttoned her blouse. “Thanks, baby.” She reached behind her back and unhooked her bra to pull it off her arms.

  He unbuckled his belt and shed his jeans and t-shirt, all the while staring at her tits. He stood up in front of her and stroked his cock right at her eye level.

  Christy reached out and replaced his hand with her own. She stared up at him and gave his dick a few strokes before closing her lips around the tip.

  Sean groaned and cupped the back of her head. She had no gag reflex and her teeth scraped over his length as she bobbed her head, taking him deep. Pressure built in his balls and he had to lean his hand on the arm of the couch, it felt so good.

  She stopped sucking and stroked him from base to tip. “I want you to come inside me.”

  He nodded, still leaning on the arm of the couch, standing over her. He didn’t really care where he blew his load. Any of her orifices would do.

  She stood and helped him straighten before lifting up on her tiptoes to kiss him. “You’re swaying on your feet. Better let me drive.” Turning him around, she pushed him to sit on the couch. Paradise City filtered through the speakers and Christy rolled her hips to the beat, sliding her denim skirt down her toned legs.

  He rested his head against the cushion to watch.

  “Fuck. I love this song.” She moved in slow motion, bending toward him, teasing and taunting. Her tits just inches from his face.

  He grabbed one, squeezing it hard and biting her nipple.

  She giggled and dropped one knee onto the couch beside his hip to climb onto his lap. “Can you play this on the guitar? I’d love to hear it sometime.”

  He released her nipple from his teeth and licked a circle around it. “Mhm. I can.” He gripped the cool flesh of her waist, pulling her closer.

  Soft locks of her hair hung forward and tickled his shoulders. She licked his cheek and kissed him. Her tongue dipped into his mouth and he sucked it. She rubbed her pussy over the tip of his cock then dropped her ass and took him inside her.

  He moaned and squeezed her hips. “Damn.”

  She ground down on him, deep and hard. She was rough, unlike anyone else he’d been with. Nothing seemed to hurt her. The antiquated frame of the couch groaned beneath them as she bounced harder. She made sounds—moans, cries and growls—that were animalistic and so hot.

  Her thighs clamped on him like a vise and her fingernails dug into his shoulders.

  Sean winced. “Take it easy, baby.” He bit her bottom lip and kissed her, sliding his hands down to her ass.

  Her eyes flickered from blue to gold and back again. She slammed against him, on him, and lowered her face to his neck.

  He was guaranteed at least one hickey anytime he fucked her. Last time she visited, his neck was sore and he couldn’t turn it for a day or two. The guys at work teased him about the “monkey bites” and Sean never let on that they hurt pretty damn bad sometimes. He couldn’t have anyone thinking he was a pussy.

  Christy’s lips remained soft as her tongue lapped at his throat. Her pussy squeezed his cock rhythmically. She was coming again, moaning through her closed mouth, muffling the sound.

  He cupped her tit and rolled the nipple between his thumb and finger. His own orgasm was close.

  She bit his neck and sucked.

  He liked a little pain mixed with his pleasure but something…something wasn’t right. She was biting too hard or too deep, or both. His fingertips tingled and he let go of her ass. His legs went numb.

  He tried to pull her off his neck but she wouldn’t budge. When did she get so damn strong? She slurped louder. When she finally lifted her face from his neck, she panted as she rode his cock and dug her nails into his shoulders, breaking the skin.

  Sean’s vision blurred but he saw her mouth—and some big fucking fangs.

  Blood dripped off her chin onto his chest. Her pussy relaxed, signaling the decline of her orgasm, and she made eye contact with him.

  “Fuck. What did you do?” Oddly, he didn’t feel the pain anymore. His head spun and he grabbed her by the throat but his hand was weak. Whatever she’d done had zapped his strength.

  The shirt she’d peeled off earlier was draped over the back of the couch. She swiftly grabbed it and held it to his neck. “Oh shit. Sean! I didn’t mean to…”

  ~ * ~

  His stomach rumbled and roiled. Hangovers weren’t usually a problem for him but his head ached and his mouth felt as if it were stuffed with cotton. Sean rolled out of bed, pulling the tangled sheet with him. His limbs were stiff and his neck sore. Christy had nearly fucked his brains out last night.

  A pair of shorts lay on the bathroom floor and he pulled them on as he walked to the living room. The light filtering in through the crack in the thin curtains burned his eyes and he squinted. He quickly closed the gap and scrubbed his hand over his face. “I need to buy some Visine.”

  The red light blinked on the answering machine and Sean pressed the play button before pulling open the door of the fridge. The blast of cold air hit him in the face and felt good.

  He wasn’t much of a shopper. There was a carton of orange juice, some eggs, a steak and a bottle of ketchup.

  The voice of his coworker, Jeb, came from the answering machine. “Sean. Where the fuck are you, dude? Clay is pissed. Call me.”

  Clay was the owner of the stereo shop where Sean made just enough money to get by installing overpriced radios into people’s shitty cars. More often than not the sound system was worth more than the vehicle. Clay had taken Sean under his wing when he’d arrived in Los Angeles with just three hundred dollars in his pocket.

  Sean’s family had frowned on his decision to drop out of college and leave Dallas for The Golden State. But California was the land of opportunity and Sean had stars in his eyes. He thought maybe he’d be a rock star, so he packed up his guitar and some of the stuff from his room and set out for the bright lights. He slept in his car for a month and met Clay at a Dairy Queen, where he’d been loudly bitching about a guy who had just called in and quit without giving notice. Sean had taken a chance and struck up a conversation, which led to a job and a room to sleep in until he landed the stellar piece of crap apartment he had now.

  The machine beeped and another message started. “Okay. No one has heard from you in two days. Call me or I’m calling the police.” Jeb’s voice was a little higher pitched in the second message. He was always a little dramatic.

  Sean had slept off a bender, that was all. It couldn’t have been more than twelve hours. He looked at his watch.

  Fuck. It was Monday! There was no way in hell he’d slept for three days.

  A sharp pain struck his abdomen and he doubled over. Hunger pangs sure as hell never felt like that before. He decided to try to eat then call Jeb back. He grabbed the steak and found a pan inside the oven. He poked a hole in the cellophane covering the piece of meat and studied the small pool of pinkish fluid in the bottom of the package. He touched it with a fingertip and let it drip back off.

  He ripped the plastic open and bent over to smell the raw meat. Why did it smell so good? His stomach clenched. Usually he preferred meat cooked well done.

  To his horror, he ate the steak raw—and the pain in his stomach went away.

  He called Jeb and told him he’d been sick and he needed another day or two. He was so fucking tired again. The fatigue won and he climbed back into bed and slept.

  ~ * ~

  “Wake up.”

  Sean opened his eyes to slits.

 
A thin man stood outside bars. Pale skin made him almost glow in the dim lighting.

  Sean looked around. Was he in jail? His mouth was parched. Way worse than any hangover-induced dehydration. His heart pounded and his fingers trembled.

  Dried blood covered his hands.

  “What the hell is going on here? Where am I?”

  The guy didn’t look like a cop, more like a mercenary out of an Arnold Schwarzenegger film. “You’re here by no fault of your own. I assure you.” His speech was stilted and formal, as if he had come from another era. Or maybe a Star Trek episode.

  “I’ve been abducted by fucking aliens,” Sean said to himself. “Great. Or I OD’d. Am I dead?”

  “We’re not aliens. The other question is more difficult to answer.”

  The wall of the cell obscured his vision beyond the narrow space directly in front of him. Suddenly Christy stepped in front of his cell, her head down. Her hair was a mess and she was wearing some weird dress or costume.

  Sean sat up on the rickety cot he’d obviously slept on for who knew how long. “God. Are you okay? Tell me what the fuck is going on.”

  She raised her head. “I’m sorry, baby. I messed up. Really messed up.” Someone had slapped her around. Her left eye was swollen and bruised.

  Sean was a jerk but he’d never intentionally hurt a woman, and he hoped he wasn’t staring at his own handiwork. There was blood on his hands, after all. “Please tell me I didn’t do that to you.” He stood up and paced. The concrete was cold against his bare feet. Where were his shoes?

  She shook her head. “No. It wasn’t you.”

  “What is this? This dude looks like a mafia hit man and I’m in a cage or jail cell. Did he do this to you?” She was just someone he fucked every other Friday but he cared about her enough to whup someone’s ass for hurting her.

  “Tell him.” The weird dude nudged her forward. “Go on. Tell him what you’ve done.”