The Possessive Kiss: Victoria's Story: Book Two of The Kiss Series

by Michelle Hillstrom

  The Possessive Kiss:

  Victoria’s Story

  (Book Two of The Kiss Series)

  By: Michelle C. Hillstrom

  Copyright © 2013 by: Michelle C. Hillstrom

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to any real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book 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 person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Piracy is a crime. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

  Cover made by: CreativeParamita

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  Table of Contents

  A Note From the Author:

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  A Note From the Author:

  I wanted to say a brief thank you to everyone who has supported me on this journey and always believed in me: my parents, my brothers, my friends, classmates, teachers, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, and of course, you the readers and fans of The Kiss Series. Without all of you, none of this would be possible.

  People ask how I come up with my stories; well, there is not a set method, and honestly, most of the time I really don’t know where they come from. Stories pop into my head at random times, like while I am in the shower or sometimes the stories are interrupted dreams that I want to finish so I decide that I will write them, because then I have all of the power.

  This story that you are about to read, is the second book of The Kiss Series and we get to learn more about Victoria, Katelynn’s persona in her first life. Through learning about Victoria’s story, we also progress the story of Katelynn and Wesley that began in book one.

  I hope you all enjoy reading my second book. The Possessive Kiss: Victoria’s Story (Book Two of The Kiss Series).

  XoXo

  Michelle

  Prologue

  Louisiana 1933

  An elderly woman in outdated Victorian mourning attire sat in a high-back chair beside a crackling fire that lit the otherwise dark library. A full bun of her silver and white hair stood high on top of her head in the traditional topknot style. The woman’s thin, veiny hand shook with effort as she attempted to raise the pink rosebud adorned teacup to her lips, but the exertion was too great and she gave up before managing a savory sip of the weak Chicory tea. The teacup clattered on the fine white china saucer sloshing the liquid out of the cup, as a hacking cough racked her body. She cringed at the dangerous way the teacup and saucer smashed against each other, silently praying that the set had not been chipped. The tea set was one of the few heirlooms that she had left from her mother’s side of the family.

  A bone-chilling breeze tickled her neck and sparks jumped from the burning logs. She could see the curtains’ shadows dancing away from the French patio doors, revealing the source of the sudden draft. Under normal circumstances, even an old woman with poor hearing such as herself would have heard the heavy footsteps of such a large male intruder as he walked along the wooden floor, but the intruder was not an ordinary man. Though she did not hear his approach, she was not so far gone with age and sickness that she was unable to pick up on the signs that told of his entrance and she sensed his presence when he reached the back of her chair.

  The matron reached up and clasped his hand when he placed his on her shoulder. She had been expecting him. The old woman took his strong, youthful hand in her wrinkled, bony hands and patted it with grandmotherly affection, guiding him down to her level. The young intruder knelt beside her so they could speak. “You never forgot your promise did you?” she asked the concerned face that looked up at her.

  “I promised your mother I would look after you, Arabella. All of these years, I’ve loved you like you were my own daughter, which is why I am here again pestering you about this cough,” he nagged her.

  Arabella breathed laboriously as she raised her hand to stroke his hair. “It’s too late for worry. Just sit with me awhile and keep me company.” She laid her head back against the chair and gazed into the fire. “I’ve sent the family to Texas like we discussed. They should be safe there from now on. They should be far out of reach from that devil woman, whoever she is, since the dry heat will be intolerable for any vampires. It will be nearly impossible for her or anyone else to track the family there for any extended amount of time. But you must still check in on them from time to time, though I know that it will be difficult for to stay there due to the climate as well…”

  “I will continue to do as I promised your mother, Arabella. I will look after the family as I have done for the last seventy years,” he assured her as he kissed the hand that still held his. An antique ruby ring adorned the middle finger of her hand, another heirloom from her mother.

  “Tell me the story again, like you used to when I was a child,” Arabella asked of the man who helped to raise her as she fondly caressed that ruby ring.

  A reminiscent shimmer fogged over his eyes as he thought back to the beginning of the story. The library cleared and he was back in the Old South, once more, in the time of sprawling plantations and ladies in hooped skirts, a time of Southern royalty, before the start of the War Between the States. He cleared his throat and began to tell Arabella the story of her mother: his soul mate.

  Chapter One

  New Orleans, Louisiana 1860

  The bells tolled a despondent melody, as the gravediggers laid another body to rest in the church graveyard. Another body joined its ancestors in their family mausoleum. Another body that now lay dead and buried from the strange blood-draining affliction that had besieged the citizens of Louisiana as of late and sparked many terrifying rumors. It was an unusually cold September morning; the dreary fog and mist reflected the gloom of the mourners as they left the overgrown cemetery through the wrought iron gate and climbed into their respective carriages. Samantha and Victoria’s slaves huddled in close to the sisters in an attempt to keep the umbrellas over the heads of their mistresses who were on the way back to their own carriage, each dodging and weaving the m
arble statues, buildings, and headstones that dotted the grounds.

  Robert, the large finely dressed Negro driver, helped Victoria and then Samantha into the carriage after their parents were comfortably seated within. The rest of the slaves then hopped onto the riding seats on the top and back of the carriage or squished in beside Robert on the driver’s bench. The sisters and their parents, Mr. and Mrs. De’Muerre, had spent the morning paying their respects like the many other mourners who had been at the cemetery that morning. The deceased had been a small plantation owner with whom the De’Muerres had frequently associated during several functions that had been held for local planters.

  The carriage jolted forward and headed toward the De’Muerres’ town home where they had been residing over the last few months in order to be closer to a doctor in case any of them were affected by the affliction; not that any doctors would be able to help should any of the family become infected. None of those who had suffered could be helped thus far, since by the time the infection had been discovered, they were already dead. It seemed that the sickness was only hitting people in the countryside, but the cases were moving in closer to town with each new outbreak. Mrs. De’Muerre turned to her husband. “I worry what the other matrons will say about them hosting this party the same day as the funeral.”

  “There is much sadness, but we must continue to live,” Mr. De’Muerre answered in return. “With the Brennans’ recent move here, this party is a celebration of new blood and new life in the area, as well as, the continuation of prosperity for us all.”

  “Well of course, don’t get me wrong, husband, I am thrilled to be attending, this has been the dullest stay in the city that I can ever recall, I just worry about the talk that it might stir up. The Brennans are new to America, let alone to the area. I am not sure that they rightly know how things are done around here yet.”

  Mr. De’Muerre petted his wife’s hand, “That is why you must do your neighborly duty, my dear, and educate Mrs. Brennan on your fine social graces and introduce her to all the respectable ladies of your group.”

  The Brennans’ were staying in a townhouse that had been vacated by a family who had moved to California during the Gold Rush. The Brennan’s solicitor was able to get into contact with that family and convince them to sell the property. The new immigrant family would then move their household to the country as soon as the building of their plantation was completed, saving the town home for seasonal stays. The De’Muerres would be the closest neighbor to the Brennans out there in the countryside. Mrs. De’Muerre was so eager to have a close neighbor, after so many years of being isolated, that she lent spare slaves to the Brennans in order to help with the building process.

  Mrs. De’Muerre grew up in New Orleans and still was having trouble adjusting to living in seclusion out on the plantation the majority of the time. After any extended stay in town, Mrs. De’Muerre would suffer a month’s long depression after her return to the plantation. Mr. De’Muerre brought his young bride to his family’s plantation on their wedding night twenty-two years earlier. Mrs. De’Muerre was one of the most highly respected women of the county, as she had come from one of the finest Louisianan families, and her influence only grew after her marriage.

  As a true Southern Belle, she spent the majority of her time handling her household and hosting important dinner parties for her husband’s guests, as well as training her daughters for their futures as wives. Ever since she had been a young girl, she had learned the delicate art of hiding her true intelligence from all men, including her husband, and demurely accepted his patronizing attitude and behavior.

  “Mama, speaking of the ball, may Victoria and I make a stop by the market. I need a new set of gloves to wear tonight,” Samantha asked as the carriage pulled up to their home.

  “I suppose, though I don’t know why you hadn’t thought of that matter until now. The party is in a few hours,” Mrs. De’Muerre replied as she reached into her purse and pulled out a small kerchief full of coins and handed over the pin money to her daughter. “Now don’t dally in this weather and hurry back. There is much to do before this evening.”

  Robert drove the sisters to the closest market square in the Garden District and pulled to a stop in front of the seamstress shop. The girls alighted from the carriage. “Miss Victoria, Ma’am, while we are here, may I take the horses down to the blacksmith? I think Shorty’s ‘bout to throw a shoe.”

  “That will be fine Robert, just meet us down at the coffee house when you are through. Samantha and I will take tea there when we are done with our shopping,” Victoria dismissed him. Victoria and Samantha would have to carry their own purchases this afternoon because the sisters’ other slaves had been left back at the townhouse to prepare their outfits for the evening. Their gown choices would need aired out and pleats would need to be pressed into the skirts. Jewels would need polishing and mending might be necessary in some of the hooped petticoats. All of these were tasks that the sisters were confident would be handled for them prior to their arrival back home.

  Before paying for Samantha’s gloves and venturing back out into the miserable weather in order to make the short track down to the coffee house, the sisters loitered for a bit in the warmth of the seamstress shop. They marveled over the new fabrics and latest dress designs from Paris, in addition to gossiping with the other ladies, as they each came in to make their own purchases. Every young woman who came into the shop was atwitter about the evening’s party due to the fact that it was the first party held in over two months, and it would be the first time any of the girls had gotten a glimpse of the area’s newest family. There were whisperings that the Brennans had two eligible bachelor sons and each girl that came in to the shop had their own fantasy as to what the sons might be like, but no one had seen any evidence that these progenies actually existed yet.

  Approximately half an hour after their entrance into the seamstress shop, Samantha and Victoria wandered back out of the shop and headed for the coffee shop as they had told Robert that they would. They had almost reached their destination when an unusually strong gust of wind caught Victoria’s umbrella and blew it out into the street. Victoria, forgetting propriety, chased after the rogue object without thinking. As she bent to pick up the umbrella from where it settled on the roadway, the thunder of hooves and the creaking of wagon wheels quickly approached. “Tory!” Victoria heard Samantha scream from where the latter had remained safely on the sidewalk.

  Victoria looked up to see a wagon and a large team of brown workhorses almost upon her. She heard the laborious puffing of the team and the heavy hoofs beating upon the cobblestone. The beasts showed no sign of stopping. Strong hands yanked her out of the way of the life threatening danger, just in time. Victoria felt her skirts fly up in the most unseemly manner just before the ground met her feet once again. “My God, woman! You should pay more attention to where you are going!” the deep voice shamed her with a rich combination of Irish brogue and southern drawl.

  Victoria looked up at the man who had just saved her life. “Unhand me, sir! Who are you to speak to me and handle me in such a manner?” Her face grew hot and crimson in embarrassment and indignation.

  The man dropped his hands and laughed in shocked, arrogant amusement. “My apologies, madam.” He gave a small bow to her. As he rose back up, Victoria noticed that his brown eyes smoldered as one eyebrow rose slightly higher than the other did, in coordination with the upturn of his smirk. The fog formed small dewdrops in his raven hair that he wore neatly trimmed, but a small unruly lock of hair fell down across his forehead. The droplets began to glide down from his hair to trace his chiseled cheekbones. He and his companion wore long, dark frock coats that now clung to them from the damp weather. The two men were very similar in appearance, but the rescuer’s companion had chilling blue eyes and appeared slightly younger. “So, sorry to have handled you roughly, milady.” The rescuer bowed glibly to Victoria once again, mocking her royal disposition as he handed her back the runawa
y umbrella.

  The two gentlemen continued around the corner and disappeared out of sight. “Tory, are you okay?” Samantha asked in concern as she rushed to her sister’s side and helped her straighten her skirts out properly. She had been standing off to the side of her sister and the mysterious gentlemen, in awe of the heroism she had just witnessed.

  Victoria looked around to see how many people had witnessed her humiliation, but it seemed that the weather kept a crowd from gathering and left no one in any mood to stand about and gawk. “Yes, yes, just fine. Let’s hurry inside, though. I am chilled to the core.”

  The sisters jostled up the wooden stairs of the coffee house in single file. The black dresses that the sisters wore had such wide skirts that only one sister could stand on a step at any given time. They glided through the aroma-rich coffee house and found a cozy pair of armchairs and tea table near the fireplace that would be a suitable spot to have their tea and dry out. “You know Tory, you really should mind that wicked tongue of yours. You never even thanked that gentleman for rescuing you. Mama would be humiliated by your manners,” Samantha admonished her older sister, taking a slight joy in reprimanding her sister for once, instead of the other way around.

  “I know,” Victoria sighed with guilt, “But he handled me roughly, in public no less, and then he lectured me about watching where I am going as if he were my father and I a high spirited child. I was utterly mortified.”