THE LAST VAMPYRE PROPHECY
A NOVEL BY APRIL EZELL WILSON
Copyright
April Ezell Wilson THE LAST VAMPYRE PROPHECY: VOLUME ONE
© 2013, AEW Self publishing ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher. Wilson, Ezell April.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE: KHAI
CHAPTER TWO: ADONIA
CHAPTER THREE: KHAI
CHAPTER FOUR: ADONIA
CHAPTER FIVE: KHAI
CHAPTER SIX: ADONIA
CHAPTER SEVEN: KHAI
CHAPTER EIGHT: ADONIA
CHAPTER NINE: KHAI
CHAPTER TEN: ADONIA
CHAPTER ELEVEN: KHAI
CHAPTER TWELVE: ADONIA
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: KHAI
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: ADONIA
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: KHAI
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: ADONIA
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: KHAI
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: KHAI
CHAPTER TWENTY: ADONIA
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: KHAI
CHAPTER ONE
KHAI
If she drums her nails against that bloody contraption once more I may follow her to her car and drain every ounce of blood from her maladroit body.
Perhaps I’ll do it anyway, my hunger is incipient after three days of restraint.
The soft ding of the elevator permeates my ear. To everyone else it is muted but to me it pierces the hypersensitive drum in my head.
Just three more floors and I can climb out of this metal tube. Modern technology is quite unnecessary for me but I have to keep up the façade.
The over-processed blonde perched against the far wall has been undressing me with her eyes for the last five floors. If she only knew what really lay beneath these tailored threads.
I give her a slight smile and stare into those muddled brown eyes covered with hideous blue contacts. She most certainly was not getting the desired effect with those fucking things.
I can see the thoughts she has about catching me in the garage and throwing me into my expensive car and hiking her skirt around her thighs then riding me against the supple leather.
She is imagining her legs curling around my thighs and sinking down onto my cock slowly then rocking hard until her insides explode and she comes all around my thick length.
I suppress a sigh because that is one of the most unimaginative scenes I’ve read lately. She is just like her hair—over worked.
I break eye contact because frankly I can’t take another second of her less than stellar erotica and couple that with the fact that sex is nothing I’m remotely interested in. I would have her drained dry, pulling that sweet red wine right out of her femoral artery before her heart skipped a beat.
I feel the cool shift in atmosphere and know we have descended to the garage level. Finally the doors open and I slip through sliding my hand into my trouser pocket gripping my key.
I feel her breath drift through the stagnant basement air and smell the remnants of her fried Chinese takeout. It is abhorrent.
I slow my stride and just as she is about ten paces back I drop my key and bend down.
Right on cue she clicks her knockoff pumps in a beeline toward me.
She clears her throat. “Excuse me, sir?” Her voice is nasally and I catch the whistle that emanates through the scarred flesh in her throat from smoking.
Show time.
I turn and soften my eyes giving her a gentle smile.
She nearly buckles in her knees and I see the tremor that radiates from her thighs down to her ankle.
She is already wet and ready. Something I am all too familiar with. All women exude the same carnal reaction when they encounter me.
When the sexual hormones erupt the chemical and physical change in their body causes the heart to pump faster and harder and pushes the blood down to that dull ache between their thighs.
It’s our nature’s way of priming our prey.
I hear her breath hitch as she catches my scent. Her nipples harden under her sweater and I watch the ripple of hairs stand up on her arms. Her heart is pumping hard and wet against her rib cage.
I peer back into her eyes and watch the scenario grow more erotic with each second she drinks me in.
Her breathing is erratic and her thighs are rubbing together purposefully trying to find relief or friction.
I stand and invite her in with my gaze.
Her pupils dilate. “I-I was wondering if you could give me a ride to the next level, I think I got off on the wrong floor?” She breathes.
I smile and give her a glimpse of the weapon that will, in a matter of seconds, be her crux.
“Sure, I’m parked just there,” I gesture to the left, “by the entrance.” My voice musically resonates the syllables and as they reach her ears she is fully under my hex.
We walk the few feet to my car and I hold her door open as she slips into the sleek leather seat.
I fold into my seat and she is already leaning into me with her legs spread several inches at the knee.
I turn my full gaze on her. “I think I’ve garnered the fact that your vehicle isn’t really on another level. I do believe you have tried to beguile me and in exchange have your way with me.” I can’t keep the amusement out of my delivery.
She bats her mascara-coated eyelashes and licks her over polished lips. “I think we can offer each other a real good time.” She murmurs.
Her vernacular is appalling and her readiness to give herself over so easily makes my irritation turn to rage.
I reach over and spread her legs open forcefully. She gasps but I can smell her arousal. I pull one leg across the center console and spot the blue throbbing line inside her thigh.
She stretches her arm out and runs her fingers through my bristled hair. The anger of her mediocrity consumes my thoughts and I grab her wrist forcing it against her throat holding her back on the seat.
Her eyes turn from lust to fear in seconds and I smile. “I think our versions of release differ greatly in this scenario.”
Just as realization flashes in her eyes I strike, sinking my teeth through the thin skin of her thigh and puncturing the delicate vein that is thrumming heavily.
The warm stream calms my senses and I turn myself over to the pleasure peak that is coursing through my body.
I taste the cheap Bordeaux and mixture of narcotics coursing through her blood. Her liver is processing at a slower rate and the toxins are filtering through her system. Given the state of decay already I have just given her a more humane form of death.
I release her arm and it falls limply against the armrest. Her eyes are staring blankly into the roof. I pull my handkerchief from my breast pocket and wipe my mouth.
I close my eyes and open my senses searching for activity. The closest person is two flights up.
I open my door and walk to her side pulling her onto the ground. Her body slaps against the cold concrete. I lean down and place my hand in the center of her heart and build the pressure from within.
Seconds later her chest begins to smolder and the fission flares through her limbs until the heat turns the tissue to molten ashes.
Her clothes are scorched in places and lay limply on the ground as the remaining ashes whirl across the gray surface.
I pick up the remnants and walk to the trash receptacle by the elevator and shov
e them through the metal flap.
The elevator whirls down the shaft and I feel the tension build in the cables as it comes to a halt against the concrete.
The people begin to file out just as I shut the door. I slip the electronic key into the ignition and the engine purrs to life. I have to admit that as superfluous human possessions goes; I am fond of this car. The salesman had really played up the modern conveniences of the Maybach but it was the V-12 engine that spoke to my sated male persona.
I purr alongside the rows of cars and inch through the mechanical arm as the computer scans my barcode.
Another modern convenience that is tolerable—satellite radio.
I hone in on the early world classical channel and feel a sense of nostalgia as the familiar remake of a favorite piece from Lodovico Giustini begins to fill the cabin.
The particular piece is referencing a beautiful maiden seduced by a dark prince and taken by his latten magic.
A smile curves on my lips remembering the exact scene that gave him the inspiration to write the song.
She was his fifteen-year-old lover and to this day, more than three hundred years later; I remember the sweet taste of her virgin blood.
Not replete from the unexpected feeding my teeth begin to ache and the vibration files through my body. I need to find a source.
Manhattan provides more than enough prey and opportunity—one of the main reasons I’ve stayed for the last seventy years.
I pull up to the valet stand and slip out of the luxury confines as the attendant eagerly places the ticket in my hand.
I sense his excitement. He is calculating the time he has to take a joy ride around the lower Eat Side.
I smirk. “I’m aware of the mileage.”
His face falls then pales. “Y-Yes, sir. Of-of course, sir.” He stumbles.
The cold wind sweeps my hair against my forehead. To me it is a warm caress but the temperature gauge in my car has alerted me of the temperature—27°.
It’s been more than eighteen hundred years since I’ve felt the sensation of cold.
The line for the club stretches at least a block. Girls are scantily dressed with overly painted faces and revealing clothing. Men are drinking in the pheromones exuding from the anticipation of the charging libidos.
I dip my head to the doorman as he nervously smiles and opens the velvet rope for me to cascade through the throng.
The darkness of the club is welcomed. The vibration of the music hums against my feet as I stride through the masses and end at my table in the corner of the dance floor—the ultimate vantage point with just enough privacy to stalk my prey.
Jessica stumbles against the table as she tries her best attempt at aloofness. She is twenty-eight, in debt and hopeless. Her five-year-old spawn is at home while she tries to make enough to cover the electricity bill.
I sigh. Empathy is most certainly not my strongest suite but she normally caters to my whims and turns a blind eye at certain indiscretions.
I smile. “Hello Jessica.”
She nearly drops her tray. “Hi Mr. Garai. Your usual, sir?” She sputters.
I wink and grin at her. “You are inimitable, Jessica. Yes, thank you.”
She stutters a response and clumsily drifts into the crowd toward the bar.
I turn my focus back on the horde of bodies pulsing to the gyration of the music. I fan out several copious female admirers. Generations of experience render me the ability to filter the mundane licentious strops lingering in the atmosphere.
Suddenly every sense in my body tenses and I become hyper aware of a familiar presence.
The flooding memories of Nanu rush my body—the rose of her cheeks and the milk tone of her skin stir deep within me.
She was the love I lost—the eternal love of a soul mate.
My head whips in the direction of the delectable scent. A mound of black luscious hair fanned across the slight build of a small figure huddles against the pillar of the bar.
Her head is downcast as her body takes repeated blows from the crowd around her causing her to bow against the wall and cower.
A violent emotion erupts from my core causing me to jerk upright and stalk toward her prone form.
Suddenly anyone in my way is collateral damage. As I close in her sweet smell is more than intoxicating, it is feral.
She seems to sense my presence and turns her eyes toward my approach. When we lock gazes I feel every cell in my body hum. A familiar pull gnaws at my core. It is an alien feeling—something I haven’t experienced in over eighteen hundred years.
Her bright green eyes stop me dead in my tracks. Every muscle I have locks and my jaw is sealed shut.
Those big emerald depths pull me in and I feel the innocence pouring from her soul.
She is perfect.
For the first time in my existence I feel inadequate and undeserving. Suddenly the overwhelming emotion permeating my being is possession and protection.
She breaks my gaze and stares down at her meager dressings. The urge to scoop her up in my arms and provide security and happiness is disconcerting.
I realize my façade is waning and my primal instincts are baring themselves. My predatory stance is alarming and a breadth of people are fanning away from me. I consciously level my breathing and feel the tension begin to subside.
Slowly the crowd dissipates around me and I have a brief moment of clarity.
What the fuck am I doing?
Who in hell was this creature that momentarily disarmed me?
I shake my head and avoid the big doe green-eyes that seek me out once more.
Without a backward glance I shift my stance and amble out of the crowd. Once I am out in the artic air I gain a bit of clarity.
I hand my ticket to the valet and fold into the seat. My hands are gripping the wheel inflexibly until the leather protests against the plastic and the stitching unravels under my grip.
A shrilling car horn tears me from my trance and I place the car in drive and peel out of the lot. Soon I am turning into my private garage and closing the heavy metal doors behind me.
I need a vein but I desperately need to confront my situation. I have to find answers. What the hell happened to me? Who was that girl and why did she affect me so savagely? I’ve gone eighteen hundred years without feeling emotions. The only thing I feel is hunger.
But it was in her eyes. She felt it too, I could sense it in her thoughts but strangely her thoughts only came in short clips, nothing cohesive. And that was another thing that had never happened to me.
The overwhelming feeling of uncertainty begins to creep into my being and it stirs a feeling I have long avoided—fear.
CHAPTER TWO
ADONIA
Oh.My.God! Who the fuck was that guy? I had a terrible sense of Déjà vu—It feels like I know every part of him. The dreams, the incessant dreams come flooding back—all at once. He reminds me of the man that has haunted my sleep every night for the past three years.
It’s always the same dream—I’ve never really gotten to see his full face, only his profile but he is so unforgettable, like the man tonight.
I shake my head. “Get out of your head, Andie, it’s a scary fucking place.” I mutter to myself.
A surly throat clears somewhere in front of me and makes me whip my head up from the noisy cappuccino machine.
“Uh, sometime today, Cleopatra.” She snaps.
It was most certainly not the first time someone had made that comment. Hell, even I could see the similarities—jet-black hair, natural black lined eyes and deep olive skin. I’d heard it more times than I cared to admit.
I give her my eat shit smile and yank the ticket from the metal clamp in front of me and eye her order.
I grab a cup and shove it under the metal opening and measure out the contents watching the hot liquid spew from the machine and froth atop the lid.
With my award winning, Pulitzer smile I stretch my hand across the glass case. “Have a wonderful day,
ma’am.”
Her shocked look of disgust at the gall of me calling her ma’am jerks me out of my funk and laces me with unbridled amusement.
Luckily the next in line is a cute senior in my class at NYU.
He grins. “So, do you always hold up the line or did you just do that on purpose?”
I smile. “Oh, you can damn well believe that was on purpose.”
“That’s what I thought.” He chuckles. “You finished your final essay in Clarke’s class?”
I sigh and drop my head. “Hell no.” I mutter, petulant. “You?”
“Yup.” He says as he reaches for his tall Sumatra blend with light cream and a dash of honey.
He stirs the contents and shifts from foot to foot as he continues, “I could help you…you know, if you’d like.” He amends.
I smile at his obvious trepidation. “Actually, I could use some help, you free tomorrow night?”
His responding smile is blinding. “Abernathy’s, on eight? Seven o’clock?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
He stares at me a beat then shakes his head slightly and smiles. “It’s a date. See you tomorrow at seven, Adonia.”
“Bye, Benton, see you tomorrow night.” He begins walking and I call after him. “And thanks.”
There’s that blinding smile again.
The rest of my shift is mindless. Finally, after the last customer leaves I grab my keys and lock the door pulling the sign in the window.
Ralph cuts half the lights and we go about closing the shop in silence. He would never say it but he hates me—hates my relationship with his mother and father.
When I first moved to New York they pulled me under their wing once I came to work and have been my second family since.
Ralph is a twisted, egotistical, giant, womanizing asshole. He’s tried for two years to get in my pants and when he realized it would never happen he brings out the asshole card whenever I am around. But having two brothers I can dish it right back to him and that makes him hate me even more.
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