A Vampire’s Thirst: Nikolai
Marissa Farrar
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
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Marissa Farrar
Copyright © 2018 Marissa Farrar
A novel set in A Vampire’s Thirst World Created by A K Michaels ©
Warwick House Press
Edited by Lori Whitwam
Cover art by Monica La Porta
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook 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 recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Chapter 1
“I can’t believe you’re asking this of me.”
Nikolai Petrov stood facing the floor to ceiling windows of his home, gazing out over the London skyline, so he didn’t have to look at the vampire behind him. Before him stretched London’s Docklands, with the Canary Wharf tower rising into the night sky. The winding curve of the River Thames appeared black at this time of night, the only light reflected from the surrounding buildings. This place was nothing like his motherland, Russia, but, after almost fifty years, it was a place he’d come to think of as home.
Nikolai shook his head then turned to his visitor. “You know I like to keep my business clean, Ivan.”
The second vampire was dark compared to his own fair looks, and had been older when he’d been turned, too, in his early thirties rather than late twenties as Nikolai had been. Both men were smartly dressed, though Ivan appeared more ruffled than normal, his tie yanked to one side, the top button of his shirt open. Nikolai’s shirt was also open, and he didn’t wear a tie. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up his forearms, but he’d done this deliberately. Ivan’s dishevelled appearance looked less intentional.
The other vampire’s lips pursed. “You’re making a far bigger deal of this than it really is.”
Nikolai cocked an eyebrow. “Investing three million pounds into my funds is a big deal.”
“Bullshit. You deal with bigger funds every day.”
“Yeah, and I know exactly where that money is coming from. Don’t try to tell me this money is going to be clean. We both know Deacon Thorn deals in some dodgy shit.”
Ivan shrugged. “He used to have the occasional thing on the side, but he’s been moving away from all of that for a long time. His clubs are all legit now, and he wants to continue with everything being legal, which is why he asked me to come to you. I guess he thought you’d understand, what with your background.”
Nikolai frowned at him. “And why should he ask you for anything, Ivan? What did you do? What is it you owe him? Is it just about the money? If it’s about money, I have plenty. I’ll just pay whatever you owe.”
But Ivan shook his head. “No, it’s not. And he doesn’t only want the money. He wants an investment opportunity, and he likes how everyone knows you’re always above board. That’s why he asked me to come to you.”
“I won’t be above board if I start to get involved with that son of a bitch.”
Ivan’s dark eyes grew hard. “I’m asking one simple thing from you, Nikolai. Stop making such a big deal out of it.”
“Investing millions into my funds is not a simple thing.”
“All it would take you is the click of a key on a computer.” His shoulders slumped and his tone changed to pleading. “Just come and meet with him, Nikolai. He’s not as bad as the rumours make out. He’s a businessman, just like you and I.”
“He’s a wolf.” Nikolai wrinkled his nose. “That’s never a good thing in my book.”
“You should judge people on who they are, not what they are,” Ivan scolded. “People aren’t exactly fond of vampires either, you know.”
Nikolai gave a cold laugh. “Well, he fails on both who and what he is.”
He turned back to look out at the London skyline. Normally, the expanse of lights brought him some comfort, but tonight he found he could only focus on his reflection staring back at him. Nikolai’s eyes were a pale shade of blue, almost appearing silvery in some light. His dark blond hair was just a shade away from brown. The effect, together with his pale skin, made his reflection look like a ghost, and he found the thought unnerving.
Ivan exhaled a frustrated lungful of air. “I hope you’re not saying no to me, Nikolai, not after everything I did for you.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“And I’ve never asked for a single thing in return. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be dead, and most of your family would have been wiped out.”
“Most of them are gone now anyway,” he growled.
“That tends to happen after fifty years walking the earth, but they have descendents, which they wouldn’t have if I’d not stepped in.”
Everything Ivan said was the truth. Nikolai had moved to London not long after he’d turned him from human to vampire. He’d had to in order to escape the Bratva—the Russian mafia—with which his family had been deeply involved. He was killed by a rival family who had put out a hit on him because they hadn’t liked some of the contacts he was making. They’d shot him and left him for dead in the middle of a frozen alleyway. But a vampire had stumbled across him and had turned him then and there, feeding him from his own veins, and leaving fresh blood drops in the white snow.
Ivan turning him meant Nikolai was able to kill the man who had ordered the hit, but knowing what he was, he worried it would come back on his family, so he left Moscow for London. He’d never been back, but that didn’t mean he didn’t miss the place with every fibre of his soul. He often wondered what the next generations were doing, if they’d managed to get out of the organised crime business, or if his family’s ancestors were still deeply involved. He hoped they’d made it out, but that was their business now. It wouldn’t do any of them any good for him to re-enter their lives. He’d cause them more trouble than anything else.
A low growl of anger rumbled deep in Nikolai’s chest. If it had been anyone else asking this of him, he would have caught them up by the throat and thrown them from his penthouse by now, but this wasn’t anyone. Ivan Sokolov made him who he was today, and he owed him more than just his life.
“If you won’t say yes right away, at least come and meet with Deacon. He’ll be able to convince you that he’s genuine about wanting to do business with you.”
Nikolai scowled. “I don’t doubt that. It’s the kind of business he wants to do that’s the problem.”
“He trusts you, Nikolai. He’s seen you have a head for the market, and he thinks you’re the one who can make his money grow.”
“It’s where that money is coming from that concerns me.”
Ivan’s lips thinned, his nostrils flaring. “One meeting, Nikolai. That’s all I ask. Surely you can’t refuse me that?”
Nikolai clenched his jaw, his fists balled at his sides. Ivan had put him in an impossible place. His maker had never asked for a single thing from him as thanks and had helped him take down the man who’d arranged to end his human life—something that hadn’t been easy when he’d been a new vampire and not yet in control of his bloodlust. Ivan had taught him everything, and he wouldn’t have the life he had now if it hadn’t been for Ivan’s help. He was only asking for a meeting, and then Nikolai could tell the wolf to get lost face-to-face, if that was what he decided. He would be able to take the blame, rather than it falling on Ivan.
“Fine,” he relented. “Arrange the meeting.”
Ivan’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you. I’ll set up a meeting for tomorrow night.”
Nikolai lifted a finger. “First, one thing. What did you do to give a wolf something to hold over you?”
Ivan pulled a face. “I slept with his daughter.”
Chapter 2
She bumped shoulders with the man in the suit, only to receive a glare of annoyance, which quickly morphed into a curled lip of disgust as he saw who he’d bumped into.
“Sorry!” Lauren said, though she wasn’t sorry in the slightest.
Men just like him swarmed London’s streets like robots, all with their hipster beards, and haircuts, and expensive suits, acting as though there was always somewhere else they needed to be, and fast. Self-important, believing their time was more valuable than everyone else’s, and that money was the most precious thing in the world.
Lauren Morgan slipped down a side alley and slid the wallet she’d just stolen from the man’s back pocket out of the waistband of her jeans. She pulled it open, and a grin crept across her face as she saw the nice wedge of notes folded inside. She wasn’t interested in the cards— she didn’t have time for credit card fraud—but the cash meant she’d be able to keep her room for another few nights. Living in London was expensive, and sometimes she wondered if she’d be better off leaving the city and going somewhere cheaper. But London was a big city, and she could be anonymous here. It was easy to slip into the crowds and not worry about being seen. Also, people here tended to carry more cash with them than other places. She didn’t know if all the city boys liked to dabble in some class A narcotics to keep pace with their work all day and party all night lifestyles, but they certainly carried around some serious money.
She folded up the cash and tucked it down the side of her bra. It would be safe there. Checking the coast was clear, she stepped back out of the alleyway and joined the throng of suited people, marching down the street. No one blinked an eye at her. That was the thing about London. You could be a businessman earning a thousand pounds a day, a broke student, or a beggar on the street, and no one would ever think you were out of place.
Lauren moved with the flow of people, though she kept an eye out for a familiar uniform. There were plenty of cops on the streets these days—everyone was in fear of a terrorist attack—so it didn’t take long. She spotted two of them standing on the street corner and headed over. As much as she knew it was bad of her to take the cash, she didn’t want the person’s credit cards or ID falling into the wrong hands.
Lauren approached one of them with her most innocent smile. “Excuse me, but I found this on the ground. I didn’t know where else to leave it.”
The police officer frowned, and then plastered a smile on his face. “Thank you. I’ll make sure it gets back to its owner.”
“That’s very kind of you.” She batted her lashes at him.
He gave her a nod. “Nice to meet an honest citizen.”
She shrugged as though it were nothing then spun away, vanishing once more into the crowds.
Lauren had been on the streets since the age of fifteen, when she’d finally made the decision to leave her drunk of a mother behind. For as long as she could remember, she’d been finding her mum passed out on the couch most mornings, and again when she got home from school. She’d never had anyone there to make her breakfast or welcome her home with a hug and kiss, and someone asking how her day was. When her mother was with it enough to get dressed and go out, it was usually to the bar. This was even worse for Lauren, as she knew her mother was unlikely to come home alone.
The men she brought home would normally be as drunk as her mother, and would barely pay any attention to the small girl who would scurry across the corridor and hide behind her bedroom door. She was thankful when they ignored her and she could just sit with her skinny knees pulled into her chest and her hands over her ears, trying to block out the sound of them together. It was worse if the men noticed her, and, as she grew up, they noticed her more and more.
This was something her mother noticed, too. It seemed crazy that a mother could be jealous of her own daughter, but that was exactly what happened. Lauren’s skinny legs gained curves, and her narrow chest grew breasts. With her silky dark hair and big brown eyes, she was a striking teenager, and this didn’t go missed by either her mother or the men she brought home.
By the time she was fifteen, and had been forced to fight off a number of her mother’s drunken boyfriends, while her mother was passed out on the couch, she decided enough was enough. She’d stolen what money and valuables she’d been able to find, packed a bag, and got the hell out of there. She’d left the last man with a broken nose, and she wondered how he was going to explain that to her mother, if she ever woke up. She doubted her mother would even notice she was missing.
She’d hitchhiked to London that same day. It was a city big enough to get lost in, and Lauren wanted to stay lost for as long as possible. She hadn’t been prepared for the huge volume of people, or how tall the buildings were, but she’d managed to find herself a hostel in Waterloo, and secured herself a bed there, together with numerous other young people. She said she was eighteen, and had had her ID stolen, and no one seemed to press her any further. She’d found herself surrounded by people from Australia, New Zealand, and South Africa, all of whom were perfectly friendly, though she always held herself back. She was frightened someone would ask too many questions and click onto the fact there was more to her back story than she let on.
She managed to find work in a Chinese restaurant where they were happy to have someone wash dishes for far less than minimum wage, as long as it was cash in hand and didn’t go through the books. But after a few weeks at the hostel, people were starting to ask too many questions, and she’d known it was time to move on. And that had been her life for the last four years. Moving between places, taking the odd job where she could, and pinching the wallets of men who had more money than they knew what to do with anyway. It wasn’t a glamorous life, but it worked for her, day to day. She gave no thought to having a future.
Lauren reached the hostel where she was currently staying. On the front step sat a man in his seventies. His gray beard touched his chest, his narrow shoulders stooped and hunched over. But he smiled at her as he saw her approach, revealing a few teeth still clinging to his gums like passengers hanging off the side of a sinking boat.
“Hey, Arthur,” she said as she approached. “How are you doing today?”
“Better for seeing you, Lauren. Hope you’re staying out of trouble.”
She grinned. “When am I ever in trouble?”
The old man rolled his eyes, and she held back a laugh. “Here, I’ve got something for you.” She angled her body away and reached into the side of her bra. She pulled out the money and peeled off one of the ten pound notes before replacing the cash. She pressed the bank note into Arthur’s wrinkled hand. “For you.”
She wasn’t going to tell him to buy himself something to eat, or to not spend it on booze. At his age, and living on the streets, he should be allowed to buy whatever the hell he wanted if it helped him get by.
He looked down at the money with rheumy blue eyes. “What did I just say about you not
getting in trouble, Lauren? Where did you get this?”
“You mind your own bees wax, Arthur. My business is my business.”
He didn’t argue any further, but nodded and slipped the money into his pocket. “You’re a good girl. When are you going to meet a nice fella to take you away from all this?”
She patted his shoulder. “I already found a nice fella, and I don’t need to go anyplace but right here.”
He chuckled, knowing she was just teasing him. “Oh, go on with ya!”
Lauren continued into the hostel, her encounter with Arthur leaving a smile on her face. It didn’t take much to make someone happy, and she always tried to if she could. It wasn’t always easy, especially when the very last thing she felt like doing was making someone else happy, but she’d discovered simple things like holding open a door, or helping to carry bags if someone was struggling, left her feeling a little lighter in her soul.
The place where she was currently sleeping—she could never call any of the beds an actual home—was a dorm room with bunk beds that housed another five women. The window at the rear of the room had bars on it, and led onto a back alley. Something clattered from outside, the sound of movement. The alley was where the hostel kept all their bins, and should have been blocked off from people on the street. There shouldn’t have been anyone else out there.
Frowning, she stood from her bed and made her way over to the window. She peered out, trying to see if there was anyone out there. Someone might be hurt, or more likely drunk or high. But she couldn’t ignore it. If something bad happened to them, and she’d known there was someone outside but had done nothing, she’d never forgive herself.
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