Her Vampire Prince (Midnight Doms)

by Ines Johnson

  Her Vampire Prince

  Ines Johnson

  Copyright © December 2019 Her Vampire Prince by Ines Johnson, Renee Rose Romance and Silverwood Press

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this book ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the authors. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors' rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Published in the United States of America

  Renee Rose Romance and Silverwood Press

  Editor: Renee Rose and Lee Savino

  This book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book contains descriptions of many BDSM and sexual practices, but this is a work of fiction and, as such, should not be used in any way as a guide. The author and publisher will not be responsible for any loss, harm, injury, or death resulting from use of the information contained within. In other words, don’t try this at home, folks!

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  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

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Want More?

  About Ines Johnson

  Read the Bad Boy Alpha Series that launched Midnight Doms

  Chapter 1

  Hadrian

  I see the invaders on the horizon. For the last ten hours, they have battered the safe house where I’ve holed up. They’re an army of many where I am only one. If a breach were to happen it would be a massacre. Their sheer numbers would overwhelm me in an instant and I would be but dust.

  Victory is in sight as the terrorists begin their retreat. Their bright orange armor grows dim as the pale moon rises. Their yellow arms slink slowly behind the vista as the dark of night falls.

  I feel strong today. Strong and filled with a passion I haven’t felt in many years. Rational thought flees my mind. I yank the door open and charge into the twilight. My bare feet slice into blades of grass. My bare ass cheeks clench at the chill in the air. I don’t get far before I’m hit.

  Right in the junk.

  A cloud shifts and an errant sun ray warms my right testicle. To the everyday man, this would be a pleasant tingle. Might even give him a stiffy first thing in the morning.

  It is not morning. Night has fallen.

  I am not a man. I am a vampire.

  And the sun just kicked me in the nuts.

  I drop to my knees and cup my jewels. Cursing that fucking star in the sky.

  Chapter 2

  Cari

  I’ve scaled a volcano and could barely feel the heat. I’ve hiked the Arctic tundra hardly sensing the cold. I even tried that walk-on-glass thing. I didn’t feel the glass pierce my bare feet. But damn was the clean up of the tiny shards in my toes a whole lot of mess to deal with afterward.

  But that’s me these days. I walk around with my entire body pretty much numb. Cold, hot, sharp? They’re all dull. So light rarely penetrates me.

  I do what every child knows not to do. I look directly into the sun. It couldn’t possibly cause any more damage.

  But the sun has set. The bright rays sinking beneath the horizon. It can’t hurt me. Nothing can.

  I've been on over a dozen skydiving jumps in the months since my dad died. That’s only half of the required number of jumps for a night jump license. Meaning technically I’m not qualified to be up here staring out of the open door of a plane after the sunset, preparing to jump. Luckily, the amount of money I have in the bank bests my lacking qualifications.

  My trust fund money also gets the pilot to fly over my family's estate rather than the approved drop zone. I am by no means a spoiled brat. Neither of my siblings are either. Our father taught us the value of every dollar that was put into our accounts. My brother Arneis parlayed his inheritance into a career of community service. My sister Marechal turned her coin and her consideration toward science.

  Me? Well, I’d only just turned twenty-one when my dad died. I was on the cusp of figuring out what I wanted to do with my life when it all turned upside down.

  I tug at my safety harness, the only thing that gives me a sense of security these days. My equipment has already been checked and double-checked. They’ve outfitted me with a lighted altimeter so I’ll know when to deploy the chute. I also receive a flashlight and a whistle. The weather is a go with not a storm cloud in sight.

  Looking down, all is dark. The sight below me is a disappointment. I hoped my childhood memories would flood back to my mind and make my heart swell with nostalgia. But it isn't like walking the vineyard while atop my dad's shoulders. I can't see much of anything except dark clumps and rows.

  Still, the adrenaline rushing through me at being in the air can't be beat. I feel. I can feel. In the air is the only time sensation visits me.

  I revel in it. There are no decisions to make. No one I’ll hurt. There is only the wind and the warmth. Why can't this feeling last forever?

  But it can't. No matter how high I go the ground always comes at me.

  I can buy another flight. I can take another dive into the abyss. But I can't buy more time in the free fall. My father’s money can’t give me any more time with him. All I want is to stretch out the last second when my dad was alive and still with me.

  I know the numbness will return as soon as my feet touch land. The indecision. The lack of direction. The emptiness. The guilt. The shame.

  I shouldn’t be here in this plane. I shouldn’t be here in the clouds. I should be in the ground with him. But I survived the crash without a scratch.

  I stand now, strapped into a safety harness and prepare to jump out of a perfectly good airplane. I don’t step out of the plane. I take a running leap. My swan dive might resemble a swan song. It’s not, though. This won’t be my last performance in the air.

  I’ll land on the ground. Not a scratch on me. Again.

  And then I’ll do it again. And probably again. I don’t know what else to do.

  I free-fall, finding something close to joy in the temporary sensations that wake up my body and brain. Maybe if I could make this last a few more minutes I could figure out what to do with my life.

  Too late. My time is already up. The altimeter lights up, alerting me that it is time to deploy the shoot.

  I hesitate, my thumb lingering over the button. I know death isn't the answer. Just these few seconds that separate life from death. That's where I want to live.

  I’ll land and let the
numbness take me tonight. Tomorrow I’ll look for another adventure. One that lasts longer in that stretch between life and death. But first I have to survive this landing. Too bad my fingers are numb.

  The air slapping me in the face tries to nudge me into action. Finally, I press the button to release the chute. There is the telltale whirring as the chute releases from my pack. Then the normal jerk followed by a tug as the fabric unfolds. That jerk of the harness signals to my body that the warm sensation is coming to a close; like an elevator announcing landing on the ground floor.

  I feel the jerk of the harness that holds my parachute. Then it loosens. Wait? That’s not supposed to happen.

  The binds of the harness go slack and let me go. The last thing in this world that makes me feel safe has let me down. Now that the tension of the rope is gone I feel bereft, lost.

  I’m truly going down. The chute flaps in the air above me. A white flag flailing in surrender.

  This is it. This is actually it. I’m going to die.

  No.

  That can’t be right.

  I’m invincible. I survived a fatal car crash without a scratch. I’ve been on over a dozen jumps. I walked a freaking volcano in sandals. I swam with fucking sharks while on my damn period.

  Skydiving is the only place I find any peace. No. This is not going to be taken from me. I’m not going out like this.

  There’s still the reserve parachute. I reach for the catch, but my fingers fumble. The ground is approaching so fast. Will I even have time to open the reserve?

  My fingers find the release. The second chute shoots from my pack. There is no jerk of my harness. There is no plume spread over my head like a halo.

  For the first time in a year, I feel fear. The second chute has failed. The fabric blows in the wind like a sinking kite. I am the string, dangling from the end. Only unlike a flyaway kite, the chute and I are falling fast to the earth.

  This is it. This is the end. I’m going to die. No seatbelt, no harness, no nothing will save me.

  Without the balance of the chute, I begin to tumble head over feet. The ropes tangle my limbs until I can't move. I am bound and headed for the ground.

  I try to force my eyes shut. But the wind keeps my lids open. I don't want to see this. I don't want to witness another death, not even my own.

  But I have no choice. My demise is fast approaching. I can almost make out the young buds on the vines. My blood will taint the crops. Marechal will be pissed that I ruined her hybrids. Arneis will be put out that my death will make the local news. It won't likely help either of my siblings; Marechal for business, Arneis for the polls.

  Damn. Even in my death, I will hurt them.

  Just before impact, I am granted one blessing. My eyes shut as I await the crash.

  Chapter 3

  Hadrian

  “Thank you for choosing Sorority Chicks Hauling Ass for your moving needs today, Mr. Serrano.”

  I take the clipboard from the chick-in-charge. Her demeanor does remind me of a chicken. Small blonde head with tail feathers drooping over her ass. I think those particular decorative feathers are called Daisy Dukes; short shorts that could double as a thong. Her breasts are large enough to make a succulent Sunday dinner.

  I scrawl my name on the dotted line, remembering to write using English characters instead of the Roman ones I grew up with. Luckily, the name I go by in this day and age doesn’t contain any of the letters that hadn’t come into existence during the height of Rome.

  “That vintage chair looks like something out of the Spanish Inquisition,” she says.

  So, the sorority chick’s IQ is a few sizes bigger than her tits. The chair is straight out of the Inquisition; a souvenir from my time in those dungeons where I elicited confessions from sinners, and sometimes the innocent depending on my mood and what I’d eaten the prior day.

  It was once known as a Chair of Torture. Its main feature was a set of spikes at the back. I was more fond of using the wrist ties to hold my victims still while I went about my business. I kept a gaping hole in the seat where other torturers would use hot coals. In my former line of work, I found that a strip of velvet, or a wet tongue, or a sculpted dildo got far more confessions. Orgasms loosened lips far more than singed and torn skin.

  “Are you building a Red Room of Pain?”

  I can see the chick’s dark nipples staring back at me through the translucent shirt. I’m not interested. Not that her double G’s aren’t impressive. Another man would surely be impressed. Undoubtedly the one who hired her would. I’ll point her in Gaius’ direction, after I murder him for this latest stunt.

  These chicks should have been done with the job of moving crates and boxes into my new home hours ago. But here it is after sunset and they are struggling to bring down the last object.

  My patience at an end, I go over and tip the dolly forward. I don’t need the wheeled device to lift the crate. I also don’t need or want the sorority chicks to see my strength. I especially don’t need any more tits hardening in my direction. Unfortunately, I do not get my wish.

  I get the box down easily enough. But the crate door slides open revealing its contents. There is a chorus of feminine gasps that remind me of the chirps of chicks hungry for seed.

  Inside the confines of the wooden box is another wooden frame. At one end of the frame is a roller where hands would be bound. A fixed bar sits at the other end where legs would be fastened. The apparatus was used to stretch the body until its victim spilled the truth. Or had all their bones broken. Whichever came first.

  Back in my time, a rack would elicit nothing but shrieks of terror. That is until I got my victims rolling on it. Then the mind would bend as I took them through the paces of sweet agony and bitter pleasure. My hands knew exactly what buttons to press to give toe-curling pleasure as well as back-cracking convulsions.

  “Can Mr. Grey see me now?” says one sorority chick. Her question is followed by wanton giggles from the rest of her brood.

  These women do not know what they’re asking for. In this new world, spending a night with a Dom is a bucket list item for most. They do not know who they’re dealing with. I was a libertine before de Sade. I was a rake before Casanova. I had the hip swivel down before that jailhouse rocking singer in a jumpsuit. But unlike all those men, my submissives never left my dungeon.

  Save one.

  And she is the reason all of these toys are going into the cellar below my new home and not put to use in some brightly colored day room.

  “I’ve left a tip,” I say as I usher the sorority chicks out of the door.

  “I bet I could earn a larger one,” says the head chick.

  There is a Pear of Anguish tucked into the rack. With a twist of the knob, the petals of the device expand in the mouth to cut off the voice and the air passages. The Pear is the precursor to the modern day ball gag. I’d threaten this woman with it but I’m sure it would only get her feathers wet.

  Instead of using a device, I stare into the chick’s eyes. It doesn’t take much more than a nudge to push the suggestion in her mind that I remind her of her chemistry professor, the one whose shriveled cock she got down on her knees and sucked. Then he still gave her a D in the course. The memory gets her in her truck and she hauls her ass off my property and into the night.

  I am alone with my solitude at last. I lock the door to the cellar, shutting off that part of me, and step out into the night. The ground is still warm from the setting sun. I can almost feel the heat as I take a walk across my family’s new enterprise and once again leave my old life behind.

  The devices are a reminder, not that I could ever forget. Domitia loved being strapped into the Chair of Torture with her wrists bound and her legs spread wide. I’d pull orgasm after orgasm from her until she begged me to yank out one more. I’d stretch her body over the rack and fuck her until she passed out. Pain turned to pleasure until we fell into oblivion. But that life is over.

  The grapes of our new vineyard are j
ust starting to bud. Winter cold has given way to spring delights. The vines struggle a bit as they’ve been taken out of their native soil of Italy and transplanted in this foreign land. This is exactly how my second life with her began.

  Domitia compelled me to follow her the last night of my human life. Her fangs on my neck were more exquisite than any orgasm. A vampire’s bite is akin to ecstasy, if done right. And Domitia performed expertly.

  I was so enraptured with her that I didn’t begrudge the fact that I was dying. I was certain she loved me when she cut open the flesh at her heart to rejuvenate me. She fed me her blood and brought me back to life; a life of darkness and pain when she slipped through my fingers, out the door, and into the light of the sun.

  I haven’t touched a woman in nearly two hundred years. Domitia had been my last. She would be my only. I owed her that much since I couldn’t save her.

  Outside the moon has taken command in the sky. Stars twinkle. Clouds move with no hurry. Except one.

  That particular cloud moves fast as a storm readying to break through and pelt the ground with a downpour. But there is no rain in the forecast. The cloud moves south instead of to the east or west. It is coming straight at me. And it has legs. Because it is a woman falling from the sky. And she is falling fast.