Zorica and Declan
by
Daniela Jackson
Restless Spades MC
*****
A Bad Boy Paranormal Vampire MC Romance Saga
Copyright © 2018 by Daniela Jackson
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 non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Description
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
Description
Zorica
I'm three hundred years old.
I'm a vampire.
I wish I could stay in Declan's arms forever, but we are forbidden to love each other.
Declan
I fuck, get drunk, and dig graves, not necessarily in that order.
I don't do relationships.
A Paranormal Romance. MC Romance. Saga. HEA. Lots of babies. Standalone.
Explicit and dark content that may not be suitable for some readers. For adult audiences only.
Chapter 1
Zorica
I love the smell of old books, the tickling sensation of dust that has gathered on the covers for years. My sweet addiction. My escape. When I open an old book, I can smell all the readers that have ever turned the pages before me. Sometimes, the old paper is stained with grease and sweat. Sometimes, I see the delicate glitter of fingerprints crossing the text.
I love the smell of old wood when I’m reading a book. It’s as though I’m living in that wooden little house again and she is reading a book to me.
Her voice was so lovingly warm, and her smile was so funny.
I love reading. I love life, but my own existence is like a nightmare that never ends.
I sigh as my memories settle back to the bottom of my mind like snowflakes. A scraping sound diverts my attention, and I raise my head.
The student seated at the other desk winks at me. He has kind eyes and curly blond hair that falls to his shoulders. I’d say he looks twenty-one. I flash him a polite smile. He rises to his feet and approaches my desk, his movements springy. His tall frame oozes strength, but his jaw muscles twitch. His hand rises, and he scratches his head. He’s all old-fashioned male dominance.
“Sasha,” he says, his voice husky in an alluring way.
“Zorica,” I say as I rise to my feet and move closer to him, so we can shake hands.
“I’ve seen you here before.” His blue eyes blaze as they meet mine.
“I’m doing research. I come here every evening.”
He nods. “Do you drink coffee sometimes?”
“No.”
“Tea?”
“No.”
He chuckles, tossing back his hair. “Do you go on dates sometimes?”
Ah, so this is what it’s all about. Humans love dating and flirting.
I like his mischievous smile and his straightforward attitude. His youth is visible in his every move.
“I’m married,” I say.
It’s a lie, but I have to cut this conversation. He’s nice and very handsome, but I can’t go on a date with him. I don’t do dates. I’ve never done them.
It’s not that I don’t want to because I’d love to go out with a nice man. It’s just that my life is too… unpredictable. I’d love to stop and just enjoy it, but I can’t.
Sasha bows his head as a knight would and returns to his desk. I see him put his denim jacket on and exit the library. I gather my books up and deliver them to the librarian’s desk. Sadness envelops my heart as delicate as a mourning veil.
The old woman takes the books away from me, her lips held tightly together like she’s unhappy though I know she isn’t. I’ve known her for a month and learned she has a wonderful sense of humour. She’s been working in this library her whole life.
The door of the library creaks open. Another student I suppose. Ten students are renting a house on the outskirts of this town. They commute on the train to the city five days a week. The librarian told me about it.
A masculine scent settles in my nostrils. My skin prickles. I take a deep breath and absorb the smell with my whole being. It’s tantalising—rainforest, tobacco, light sweat—almost tangible like the air around me has turned into a ravenous being and is yanking me with its brutal fingers.
My mind spins out of control. My senses cloud and dull. My heart starts thundering.
Somebody stands behind me. It’s the man exuding that irresistible smell. It envelops me like a dense, steamy dance of temptation. I’m hungry. Hungry like never before.
“I need internet access,” a husky male voice says in English, but with an Australian sounding accent.
I turn around, and my glance travels up to meet his. His eyes are grey. His irises make me think of hail clouds and high mountains, and then I think of the ocean during a violent storm.
“She doesn’t speak English,” I say.
“But you do,” the man says as one corner of his asymmetric lips crooks up.
A scar runs across his right cheek, and he has short brown hair. His frame is so massive I feel like a dwarf. Droplets of rain glitter on his leather cut thrown over a green hooded jacket.
“Can you help me?” he asks.
“Sure,” I say.
I’m nice to humans. I like helping them. I don’t socialise with them though. There’s no room for socialising in my life, not until I find someone like me—another Mora vampire. I grew up in the woods. My mother was a Mora like me, my father was a fierce warrior. They disappeared one rainy night. I cried and cried until three deer came. They gave me food and became my company. I travelled with them, watched their fawns being born, and then watched them die. Then I travelled with their children and grandchildren until I decided to explore the world of humans.
I look at the librarian. “The man wants to use your PC.”
She nods. “Behind the bookcase with the kids’ books.” Her eyes slide over the wall clock. “Tell him to hurry. We close in half an hour.”
I glance back at the man. “Behind the bookcase with the kids’ books. Hurry. You have only half an hour.”
“Thanks,” the man says as he leans towards me. His smell hits me hard again, and my vision blurs. “Declan,” he introduces himself to me. “My name is Declan.”
My mind whirls, and I back up. Everything is so hot. So blurry.
I feel like I’m intoxicated. Like I’m melting, diffusing into sweet poisonous heat, dying and being reanimated.
I pick up my navy parka and put it on, my movements clumsy like I’m made of concrete. I stagger out of the library.
I feel dizzy. My heart thumps in my ears.
I’ve never reacted to any man in such a violent way. In fac
t, I never allow myself to react to them in any way.
I’m nice to them. I chat to them sometimes.
My legs wobble. I press my hand against the rough exterior wall of the library to steady myself. I sense someone behind me. No, not someone. It’s him.
“Are you okay?” Declan asks.
“Yes.” I turn to face him. “I’m fine.”
“You look like you’re going to faint.”
The wind smacks me with a cold hand of anger as the rain pricks my skin with icy droplets. I’m so hungry I want to kill. I’ve never felt the urge to kill.
Declan grips my arm. “Hey, let’s sit somewhere. There’s a nice café—“
“I can’t.” I tear my arm away from his grip.
“I just want to help. No need to be nervous.”
“Thank you, but I’m fine.” I step back, but his arm shoots towards me, and he grabs my wrist.
“What’s your name?”
“Zorica Stoyanov.”
My heart stops beating. I just told him my real name. I’ve never done this before. I always introduce myself to humans as Tara Brooks.
Declan brings my hand up to his lips and kisses my knuckles. “Nice to meet you, Zorica.”
I tear my hand away from his. “I have to get going.”
“I’ll walk you home.”
“No, thank you. I can manage.”
I pull forward and move along the medieval palace’s wall. The autumnal leaves rustle as I crush their mummified forms under my feet. It’s the middle of November. Every night the sky cries more and more.
I pick up the pace. The library is across the asphalt road. The building accommodating it was once the gardener’s house. That was when the count lived in the palace. Now the whole estate, or what’s left of it after it burned down, belongs to the town’s council. The palace burned down during WW2 and only the gardener’s house remained untouched.
I go through the palace’s main gate guarded by two stone knights and the town centre greets me with the light of street lamps and the hum of car engines.
“Zorica,” Declan says as he catches up with me. “Listen, I thought, you know, maybe we could go have a drink together?”
“I don’t drink alcohol.”
“Coffee?”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
I stop walking, and he bumps into me. My body sways. Declan grips my arms to steady me. His smell makes me feel dizzy again. Even dizzier than previously. I’m ravenous. So ravenous I want to dig my fingers into his throat and rip it out with my fangs. Why do I want to hurt him? It’s as though my inner predator has been unleashed and gone feral.
I chew my lower lip as heat surges through my veins and ignites my core. I’m so… aroused.
Ah, you silly Mora.
Now I know what’s wrong with me. I want to feed on Declan.
I’ve never fed on a human. Moras feed only on animals or on their mates. But that’s not possible. He’s a human and Moras mate only among themselves. As far as I know, a few of us decided to mate with other species, but that always ended in tragedy.
“Come on,” Declan says. “One drink.”
“I can’t.”
“You can. One glass of wine.”
“Okay,” I say.
I didn’t just say that.
I don’t drink wine with humans. Ever.
Declan flashes me a beguiling smile. “I have a nice room in the hotel that was once a mill.”
“Ah yes. It’s not far from here.”
We start walking as our arms touch. Each time it’s just a brush, but my whole skin is tingling and burning. I can hear the murmur of his blood, the steady rhythm of his heart. It’s a strong rhythm, the one I sometimes hear in soldiers or MMA fighters.
“What are you doing in this town?” Declan asks. “You’re not from here, are you?”
“I’m from Bulgaria.”
My stomach twists. I just unveiled another piece of me. It should be kept secret, yet I can’t control myself in his presence.
“Are you working here or something?” Declan asks.
We move along the main road that separates the public park from the town centre. Cars hum, humans pass us, shrinking into themselves at the smacks of wind, and the rain grows in strength. It creates a cold glassy environment around us.
“I’m doing research,” I say.
I’ve been looking for someone like me. I’m three hundred years old, and I haven’t seen or heard of Moras since my parents disappeared. Libraries are full of knowledge—they’re my hope, my entertainment, and my home.
“That’s interesting,” Declan says.
He’s not interested at all, but that’s okay. He’s wearing a cut and that means he’s a biker. Research is probably at the bottom of his list of interests.
The patch on his shoulder indicates that he’s an outlaw.
That doesn’t scare me, but my lack of control does. I don’t want to use my compulsion ability on him. Even thinking of such an act fills me with repulsion. I respect humans. I never compel them.
They do.
But I’m nothing like them.
Declan
She looks like a fawn—the most beautiful chick I’ve seen in this shithole. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Thick dark eyebrows frame her big brown eyes and her curly brown hair covers her back like a cape. She’s as tiny as a fawn. Ethereal.
I can’t tear my eyes off her.
I can’t stop thinking about sinking my hard dick into her tiny cunt.
My head is hazy as fuck, possessed by a primal force that urges me to fuck that cute little thing raw. I’m all ravenous desire, nothing more.
Our glances meet, and she flashes me a smile. It’s like an invitation.
She is interested. Good. I don’t have time for any chit chat.
I want to fuck and get drunk. Maybe we could fuck, get drunk, and fuck three more times before we say our goodbyes.
I’m a one-night stand man, but the chick walking beside me makes me consider giving myself dispensation. Two nights. Hell yeah. We’re gonna have fun together for… three nights.
We turn to the right. The petrol station is on my right and the barbed wired wall of the prison is on my left. I can see the white tower of my hotel from where we’re walking. The rotating cap was removed and it’s on display in the back garden.
Zorica picks up the pace.
She’s easier than I thought she would be.
We pass a few houses, each of them encircled by a low metal fence, and their gardens maintained in perfect condition, and we turn into the parking lot in front of my hotel. I see my bike that’s parked between two cars with German plates. There are three more cars and they have Slovakian plates. Yes, a German businessman, a German old couple, three Slovakian families.
I climb the stairs and open the glass door for Zorica.
“Ladies first,” I say to my Bulgarian fawn.
“Thank you,” she says as her eyes sweep over my face.
There’s something pristine about her—she seems as crystal as the water murmuring in a mountain stream. She’s as delicate as a sea breeze on a spring day.
There’s something untamed and unavailable about her like she’s a flame that’s been started by lighting and is burning fiercely, and all of this contradicts her presence beside me. I just don’t get it.
I know when the woman is interested and Zorica is. It’s just that I feel like she’s off limits even though she’s following me to my hotel room.
A predator wakes inside of me. I’m gonna snatch her up and devour her.
I guide her over to the elevator, and we step in. It dings and takes us up to the third floor.
Zorica
I’ve never been in a modern hotel room. I’d slept in a Victorian hotel on a number of occasions, but that was a long time ago.
Curiosity and excitement fill my chest. The elevator dings and Declan lets me exit it before him. His eyes never leave mine.
I can’t read any emotions from his face, but I sense something rigid and dangerous in him. He’s a biker. Bikers are tough and unyielding.
Bikers are intriguing to me. They live on the edge and enjoy it.
I’ve been living in the hiding my whole life, always so careful and timid. Always so invisible.
My eyes drink in Declan’s face. He is very handsome. Women must love him and he knows this.
Fifteen minutes. I will allow myself to enjoy his company for fifteen minutes. I crave human company like never before.
Declan stops in front of a navy door and opens it with a key card. I enter his room and step to the side to remove my boots. Declan’s eyes widen as he watches me put them by the pale blue wall. Well, the carpet looks expensive, and I don’t want to stain it with the dirt from my boots.
My eyes roam over the interior—I see a table with two chairs, a bed covered with a navy and red bed throw, a wardrobe of a light brown colour and a mirror. My reflection glances back at me. I look like a ghost with dark circles under my eyes and pale skin.
Human women are as beautiful as blossoms, yet they’re so temporary. Moras are fragile and pale in appearance, almost translucent, but as eternal as the ghosts floating on the edge of the world. They were wild creatures while they thrived. I hope they still exist.
Declan removes his cut, folds it, and puts it on the windowsill. He shakes off his jacket and throws it over one of the chairs. I take off my parka and he tears it away from my hand, tossing it on top of his.
His eyes eat me, and a tingle spreads across my skin.
I watch him grab a bottle from the table and fill two glasses with wine. It’s expensive—the year 1992— my perfect sense of smell tells me this.
Declan hands me a glass. “Try it.”
I inhale the richness of grapes preserved in the wine and take a small sip. It’s delicious—velvety and sweet with a hint of spiciness.
I don’t drink alcohol because it’s a social activity and I’m always alone. Why would I drink alcohol while being alone?
I’m not alone now. It’s nice to have a glass of wine with a handsome man. It’s nice to have company.
I wish I could drink wine with Declan once a month. I wish I could watch TV with him every Saturday evening.
Zorica and Declan: Restless Spades MC (A Bad Boy Paranormal Vampire Romance) Page 1
