The Order of Vampyres 1
Called to Order
Isolated in the quiet hills of Pennsylvania is an Amish order unlike any other—they are vampyre.
Adam Hartzler has always been an honorable immortal, but when he is called to his true mate, the line between right and wrong begins to blur. If he does not find her soon, he will lose his soul and die. The longer he waits, the less he is in control. With only his dreams to guide him, Adam sets out on a journey to claim his mate and return home with her before it is too late.
Annalise Snow is forced into a destiny she did not choose when she awakens on a primitive farm in the arms of a man determined to have her. Passion and emotion collide when two strangers, bound by destiny, become each other’s salvation, but will their bond survive the ultimate sacrifice? Or will eternity begin with betrayal?
Genre: Contemporary, Paranormal, Vampires/Werewolves
Length: 123,463 words
CALLED TO ORDER
The Order of Vampyres 1
Lydia Michaels
EROTIC ROMANCE
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Erotic Romance
CALLED TO ORDER
Copyright © 2011 by Lydia Michaels
E-book ISBN: 1-61926-135-9
First E-book Publication: December 2011
Cover design by Jinger Heaston
All cover art and logo copyright © 2011 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
Letter to Readers
Dear Readers,
If you have purchased this copy of Called to Order by Lydia Michaels from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.
Regarding E-book Piracy
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DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to my Book Club girls, Camille Rylak, Michelle Delfin, Ivone Santos, Gina Hunter, and Lori L’Heureux. You are and will always be my most enthusiastic fans. I love you all! Thank you for taking this journey with me from the first step and always believing in my dreams. I will never forget how many rough drafts you suffered through. In each of you I have found a priceless friendship. Cheers! Now, where’s that bus?
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
In everyone’s life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit.
~Albert Schweitzer
The challenging journey of an unpublished author is an overwhelming one. This is my first published work, and I never would have accomplished such a dream if not for the inspiring people who encouraged me along the way. To those of you who never allowed my inner fire to burn out and continuously reminded me that every dream worth having was worth working for, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
To my mother and father, thank you for always letting me tie my own shoes even when I didn’t know how. Thank you for getting me a computer before they were considered necessities. Thank you for all the ways you have nurtured my creativity even when you didn’t quite understand it. And thank you for ingraining in me the confidence to be myself and the firm belief that I could accomplish anything I put my mind to.
I would also like to thank the many friends and family members who have anxiously awaited this moment with enthusiasm, blind confidence, and unconditional support at every bump, turn, and dip along the way.
Thank you to all the teachers, especially Ms. Good and Sue Antonelli, who helped me believe I was more than just a dyslexic student, that there were greater tragedies in life than not knowing how to spell, and helped me see that I possessed a mind capable of great things. Your encouragement and support throughout the years has influenced me more than you know.
Thank you to my book club girls and all of you who patiently advised me on ways to improve my craft, especially Gina Mazzocchi, Chris Galeone, and my editors, Jennifer Colgan, and Kathryn Butler.
Thank you to Siren-BookStrand for giving me a chance, and thank you to all the readers out there. I hope you enjoy reading my stories as much as I enjoy writing them.
And finally, a very special thank you to my husband, Mike. Without you, nothing else matters. You are the other half of my soul, and I thank God every day that I have found you. You are my most coveted treasure and closest friend. You are as depended on and indescribable as the air I breathe. You are the meaning behind my favorite song, the magic of Christmas morning, the sparkle in our daughter’s eyes, and the inspiration of every unwritten romantic thought hidden between the lines. I know I can accomplish anything, so long as you never let go of my hand. Thank you, Mike, for always supporting my dreams and for sharing that secret part of your soul with me that no one else gets to see. I love you.
And on one final note, I would like to not necessarily thank but show my appreciation for all of the Amish communities that inspired this book. I have always found the simplistic way of Amish life to be a beautifully kept secret tucked deep within the pockets of Pennsylvania, capable of surviving the test of time. I hold nothing but respect for Amish culture, traditions, and history. While I enjoy visiting Lancaster and catching glimpses of the fascinating way Amish families live, I never forget the significance of their values. They are a devout society that seeks a quiet and peaceful existence away from the modern world. Just as we are entitled to
live our lives as we choose, Amish are equally entitled to their privacy and chosen way of life.
Thanks for reading,
~Lydia
CALLED TO ORDER
The Order of Vampyres 1
LYDIA MICHAELS
Copyright © 2011
Chapter 1
Everything smelled of honeysuckle. The air was saturated in the wild flowers’ nectar. Even his skin, under the warmth of the early-morning sun, seemed to bead in small pearls of the sweet dew. This was no bottled fragrance. The breeze tickled his neck leaving the pure essence clinging to his skin. He tasted his lips, pulling the nectar into his mouth. Sweet, sun-kissed-flavored liquid teased his tongue, seeming to quench his thirst for a split second, but quickly turning his craving greedy. There was a unique spice mingled with the sugary dew Adam had never noticed before. He savored it, wanted more.
The earth pressed into his back, soft wet grass, warmed by dawn’s fingers. The white rays of the sun trickled through the honeysuckle vines, filtered by the delicate white petals, heating his skin in a delicious way. From the underbrush he reached for a blossom and gently snapped it from the rich-green stem. The branch seemed too hardy and rough to hold something so fragile and beautiful.
Adam plucked a tiny bud from the rest and admired it closely, the tiny follicles catching the light, the long threads of filament curling prettily, displaying the buds of anther in a manner designed to seduce the bees, the yellow-tipped petals creating a vessel where droplets of sweet, moist syrup gathered. Without thought he traced the flower over his lips, breathing its pure scent in. Soft. Everything was soft and weightless. Adam never wanted to leave this place.
He needed more. Reluctant to alter such a beautiful display of nature, he tried to squelch his craving to drink from the plant. Its perfection most likely depended on that sweet drop of juice Adam knew it hid, secreted deep within its beauty. Adam knew he should not take from such a delicate creation. The flower would not survive it. Apparently the temptation was stronger than his will, for without conscious thought he watched his work-roughened fingers turn the flower and pinch the tip. Slowly, he pulled the long filament from the opening, gently maneuvering the sweet moisture from the vessel of the petals with it. With an almost silent pluck, the stem came out and on the tip sat a bead of the purest nectar nature had ever created.
He admired the droplet, anticipated the flavor of such a small and fleeting treasure. Adam knew one taste would not satisfy his craving. It would only enflame his need for more. He wanted to drink from the blossoms until he was sated, but such beauty needed to be preserved. He would take but one sip and that would have to be enough.
He drew the thread of green to his mouth, prepared to savor this tiny sip of heaven. He was surprised, when his tongue reached to taste the droplet, to feel his fangs had elongated. Not giving the occurrence much thought, he shut his eyes and wrapped his lips around the offering. The nectar trickled down his throat.
His lips felt warm as if they pulled heat from the sunshine itself. A tinkling, melodic sound echoed his satisfied moan. So soft, it did not disturb the tranquil feel of this place, but rather slipped into the air as if belonging there. Like the soft song of a wind chime being caressed by a slow summer breeze, the sound sung again. What was that beautiful sound? He reached out with his senses, and his body felt as though a thousand honey-scented petals tickled his skin. He searched for the sound, but could not find its source.
When Adam opened his eyes, he was surrounded by warm white light, a blanket weighing him comfortably into the earth. His movements were graceful, but heavy, slowed in a way that allowed him to experience every sensation. He was no longer weightless. The gravity surrounded him, anchoring his body to a source of light, too pure to watch. He shut his eyes so not to be distracted from the pleasure of this place.
His skin heated deliciously from the light, a sensation so blissful his body prickled with goose bumps, regardless of the warmth. Then he touched the softest body God had ever made. He reached his arms around her, holding tight as his thighs worked in a rhythmic motion. His face met with silk, finer than the petals of the honeysuckle. He breathed in the pure scent of the fragrant strands softer than freshly spun silk, silk the color of sunset, that momentary burst of rusted sunshine just before the blue sky surrenders to the black night.
He breathed in and knew her. The familiar heat of her fluttering pulse tickled his soft lips. His tongue slowly traced the warm spot and tasted honey sweeter than the dew of the flowers. Her skin was soft like the petals, tiny peach fuzz hairs tickling the contours of his lips. He licked again and was rewarded with the magical chime-like sound he had heard earlier. He realized the sound was her laughter. He was tickling her.
The sensation of her body touching his was so all-encompassing he could not tell one part of his body from another. He simply luxuriated in the feeling of her. For his kind, sex was simply another sensory occurrence. It was equivalent to tasting a fine wine or savory food or running one’s fingers through a soft material. It was pleasant, but never anything remotely close to what he felt now.
He felt the press of her flesh against his. Her supple body curled into Adam’s, and a chill ran down his spine. His fangs traced along her slender neck. She shivered, and reached further around his back, her nails digging deliciously into his muscular shoulders. Her body tightened around his, and their grinding rhythm increased. Holding her tightly to his chest, lifting her off the bed of delicate white petals, he cradled her in his embrace. Her head settled against her left shoulder, exposing her throat even more.
He leaned back, settling his thighs onto the heels of his feet, the grassy earth cushioning his weight as he drew her onto his lap. Her tapered legs wrapped around his torso, and he said, “De Mijne.” Mine.
He kissed along her shoulder, dipping briefly into the valley of her breasts then returning to her delicate pulse. “De Mijne,” he rasped again. To drink from her would taste better than drinking from a thousand honeysuckles. Kissing her throat again, he opened his mouth, but suddenly, to his horror, she began to slide away as if her body was suddenly without substance, only shadows filling the empty space in his arms. His arms slipped through where his mate once rested in his embrace, grabbing at nothingness as he fell backward through the bed of petals, through the earth into a space no longer warm from the sun but cold like the air of a moonless night. The wind’s breath grew dank, no longer sweet smelling like honeysuckles. He was losing her. And suddenly, like a steel door slamming down, everything went dark.
“What has you thinking so hard, brother?”
Adam jumped at the interruption to his thoughts and saw his brother Cain observing him, his posture curious. Pretending his mind had not been preoccupied with memories of his most recent dream, Adam continued to shave down the wooden wheel spoke he was crafting.
He needed to have the wheel completed by Sunday so his family could use the buggy to attend service. It was important they preserved traditional Amish practices, and church every other Sunday was a significant one. The presently broken-down buggy was their most depended-on means of transportation.
“Why not just replace the band on the wheel?” Cain asked from where he stood. Arms casually crossed at his chest, his form was only a silhouette, veiling the hot August sun stretching through the glowing entrance of the now-dim barn.
Adam dusted the curled wood shavings from his black pants and stood from where he straddled the workbench. He shut his eyes at the fleeting sense of vertigo that swayed him and hoped Cain did not notice. He casually brushed the remaining sawdust from his trousers as his equilibrium returned. The dizzy spells were hitting him more and more frequently. When he opened his eyes, he saw Cain had stepped into the barn and now wore a crease between his brows. “The wheel was erector,” Adam told his brother.
“Destroyed? From such a little dip in the road? Clearly you are not building them like you used to.”
“I build them just fine. It was an old wheel and w
as due to be replaced.” Adam moved to the back of the barn, and Cain followed. He could have simply reset the wheel with a newly hammered rim, but the idea of finishing his work quickly only to return to the field and the hot midday sun had him reconsidering the needed repair. The sun was usually something their kind could tolerate, but had begun to irritate Adam more than usual as of late. His skin seemed hypersensitive, prickling uncomfortably at the slightest exposure. So rather than quickly mending the wheel, he thought it would be wise to fill his time toiling in the shade of the barn for most of the day.
At the wheel mold Adam checked the fit of the spoke tenon against the mortise he had carved into the belly of the wheel. Cain seemed to lurk by the anvil table, pretending to survey the different forging tools rather than speak whatever was on his mind. It was no trouble for Adam to simply let him stew over his thoughts while he went about his business. As he retrieved a mallet to hammer in the spoke, Cain’s breath left him in a hiss. Adam turned just as his brother replaced a metal spike to its place among the other tools. “That one’s sharp.” Cain stated the obvious as there was now a gouge running through his hand.
Without intervention, the wound on Cain’s hand began to heal. Flesh pulled toward flesh, seamlessly mending the broken skin and covering the thick red muscle that had been exposed seconds ago. Cain licked at the drop of his blood for good measure then tucked his hand into his pocket, the injury forgotten.
Called to Order [The Order of Vampyres 1] (Siren Publishing Allure) Page 1
