The Campus Jock: A College Bad Boy Romance

by Serena Silver

  Rowena placed another one in front of her husband and sat down with a glass of orange juice herself.

  “Ummmm! This blueberry conserve tastes just like the one they make back in Azmin Creek. It's more of the berries that grow there that have a unique flavor than the recipe.” Han pattered on as he ate with a single-minded concentration. It took him seconds to realize that the conversation around the table had ceased.

  “How could you possibly tell?” Rowena said in a shaky voice, her eyes misting. “It was the last of the bottled I had brought from home. I had picked them myself. Gabe had helped me do it” Eli put his hand over hers and pressed gently, glowering at Han.

  Rowena had still not overcome completely the surge of emotions she felt over the happenings in Azmin Creek a few months back. Eli tried to protect her from the unhappy memories as much as possible by shielding her from them. But Han believed in facing his demons straight on.

  “Rowena, you cannot skirt the issue of your ties to Azmin Creek forever. You need to face your past. You cannot possibly melt into tears every time someone mentioned the name of the place or Gabe for that matter.”

  “I know said Rowena, but I still cannot believe he did that to us.”

  “He did not. The man who did all those bad things was not the Gabe we knew at all.”

  “I cannot seem to forget how close I came to losing the two of you as well.”

  “But you did not. You found your powers in the right moment. Seized them used them against the monster and saved us all.”

  “I sometimes wonder why I was able to do it when he was much stronger than any of us that night.”

  “Because when he tried to draw out Eli’s power, thinking that he had some evil power, he failed. Because Eli has no magical power. The shielding he does is just a form of meditation that I have taught him. It has got nothing to do with magic.”

  “But Han, I saw him draw the force out of Eli.”

  “Rowena think. We have magic in our blood. Eli doesn’t. But he did have something else in his blood at that time.”

  “The sickness.”

  “Right. And that was the evil Gabe felt in him. But he mistook it to be some dark magical power. And he tried drawing it out of him. And what he drew out instead was the sickness.”

  “Han don’t you remember how sick Eli was that week. What if you say about Gabe drawing out his power is true then why was he still so ill?”

  “Because you were still giving him his medications, which he actually did not need anymore and so made him sick.”

  Abby nodded in understanding. She had thought and rethought the matter over and over in her mind. But the way Han explained it had all started making sense.

  “The only thing I have not been able to figure out is how did he draw out the sickness. He had to have fed Eli with a magic potion to have completed that task successfully. He made me drink it through tea. I never realized what I was drinking. He also confirmed to me, before you arrived, that he had made you drink the potion a few days back and that the blood moon would draw you to him. But he never made Eli drink anything.” Han said looking at Eli for confirmation. Eli nodded his accent. As both turned to Rowena, her eyes shone with realization.

  “The wine. A few days before the blood moon he came to me one evening, very late. Said he had made a concoction for me to calm my nerves, what with all the stress I was facing. He even mixed it in the wine for me to drink. But I kept the glass on the table and went out to say goodbye to him. When I came back in Eli had already drunk that wine.”

  “That explains it. That is why he could cast on you only temporarily, and you were able to resist him.”

  “That day when I went out to say goodbye to him, I met Mrs. Norris on my way back. She had not seen Dom all day. She was worried. Gabe must have had him then. That is why he was there. He either already had him in his car tied up or hidden him somewhere else. Maybe the shack behind your house.”

  “True. We will never know.”

  I will never forget the look on Sue’s face when we walked into the clinic that afternoon to get Eli’s report. The way she said it’s gone. Neither she nor the other doctors were able to explain how Eli’s sickness had disappeared.”

  “I explained it to Sue later. She is not very convinced, but she is happy for the two of you.”

  “And she comes here every fortnight picking needled into me keeping vigil.” Eli complaint gently rubbing his forearm where Sue took the blood from.

  “She is a persistent woman,” Han said laughing out loud, then started to rise.

  “I need to go pick her up at the hospital. See you later guys.”

  “Yeah. Let's meet this weekend. We need to discuss how we are traveling to Azmin Creek for Wess’s marriage.” Said Eli

  “I have decided to gift him the pharmacy. I am going to draw up the deed next week.” Ro pitched in. Han’s eyebrows went up in surprise while Eli’s hand went around her shoulder. They were in this together.

  Yes, it felt so good. They were at last together!

  Immortal Love

  A Vampire Romance

  Cara Green

  Immortal Love

  Copyright 2017 by Cara Green

  All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to a person, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: Due to mature subject matter, such as explicit sexual situations and coarse language, this story is not suitable for anyone under the age of 18. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older, and all acts of a sexual nature are consensual.

  Part I

  Chapter One

  “Buddy, you better get the hell out of here before I call the cops.”

  Brone whirled to face the bartender who loomed over him, baseball bat poised to strike. His meaty face was a twisted array of venom as he advanced.

  “Go ahead,” Brone intoned sinisterly. “I dare you.”

  Without hesitation, the giant man smashed the weapon onto the bar, half a dozen glasses scattering along with the patrons who had previously claimed them. Brone’s translucent blue eyes narrowed into dangerous slits as he leaped back into a crouched position. A glance out of his peripheral vision told him that the man he had finished attacking just moments before still laid immobile upon the filthy floor. He did not have time to gauge whether or not the figure was breathing. The bartender jumped atop the high barrier with surprising nimbleness for his size and lunged toward the pale, slender man. Stealthily, Brone ducked away, licking his blood-colored lips, his clear eyes still focused on the huge barkeep who was now intent on doing him harm.

  “Cal, I called the cops!” a terse server shrieked, her cell phone still firmly clutched in hand as if she intended to use it as a weapon. “Get out, you psychotic bastard!”

  Brone glanced at the waitress whose face was still a mask of shock from the trauma she had witnessed. With Brone momentarily distracted, Cal seized the opportunity to pounce. Like a cat on an injured mouse, the bartender jumped on the smaller man, pelting him with giant fists. Brone threw his arms up to protect his face, but was too late, Cal’s blow landed squarely on his finely sculpted face, his nose shattering on impact. The bigger man continued to pummel the seemingly frail figure below him. Brone seemed to give up the struggle, and Cal sat back, suddenly hearing the screams of his customers. He wiped his bloodied hands on his apron and glared furiously at Brone.

  “Have you had enough?” he hissed. “They are all recording you.”

  Cal gestured around
at the crowd, most of whom had their phones facing the duo, recording the madness which was occurring. Brone carefully rose to his feet, feeling the crunch of broken bones as he stood, but he smiled through his red stained face. He spat out a tooth and held up his pale hands in mock surrender.

  “I call mercy,” he replied, backing away, still grinning obscenely. The customers seemed to wait with baited breath for Brone’s next move. Without another word, he flew around and stole out of the dingy tavern into the night, his black coat emblazoned in the minds of the disturbed people inside. Later, when questioned by the police, they would only remember that jacket, a shiny, thick material which enveloped his form like an abyss.

  Still wiping fluid from his broken face, Brone did not slow his pace as he hurtled through the shadowy streets. Only the sound of sirens in the distance caused him to stop on the corner of Church Street and peer into the inky night. Two cruisers flew past him, lights flashing but apparently unaware of the gaunt umbra watching them pull up to the bar. Brone stepped into the ray of the streetlamp, leaning against the concrete pole, unaware of the shocks of pain coursing through his body. Spence had put up a fight much to Brone’s surprise. He had not expected much resistance from him, but the younger man had landed several good blows before succumbing to his own fate, and Brone’s muscles ached already. He knew he would be suffering the following day. Three officers leaped from their vehicle and rushed into the pub, their hands each poised cautiously above their guns, unsure of what they were about to face inside. Brone knew what they would see; the tattered remains of a body, broken on the floor where he had left him to die. Brone remained still, waiting for his absolution. Moments later, his patience was rewarded. An ambulance screeched around the corner, blocking the entrance to Shuter Street at Yonge. Brone drew forward, watching as the paramedics removed a stretcher from the back of the emergency vehicle. People began to mill about, spilling from the tavern, their faces masked with concern as they muttered among themselves. Brone strained his ears to hear their wisps of conversation despite the incredible distance between1 them.

  “…may be dead…”

  “…not breathing…”

  “…was that guy? He just went crazy!”

  The black-haired form, adorning all dark clothing felt air escape his lungs as the medical attendants emerged from the building, pushing the gurney. Atop the moving bed, the man was covered from head to toe in a sheet. Brone withdrew into the shadows, exhaling deeply, the release of breath overwhelming his slender but muscular frame. He is dead. I killed him. He did not look over his shoulder as he walked away, a small smile toying upon his red lips. His work there was done.

  Her luminous green eyes shone through the darkness, but she barely breathed as she watched the couple a few short feet from her. She leaned forward as the man tenderly leaned in to deliver a kiss to his lover’s waiting lips, her mouth parting to eagerly accept the embrace. In seconds, they delved into a tangle of passion, hands entwined in each other’s hair.

  “Oh, Jacob, I have waited for this moment for so long!” Caitlyn cried as they parted. “I thought you would never leave Elizabeth!”

  “It has always been you,” Jacob breathed, staring lovingly at her. She watched, her body ablaze with envy as the two continued to engage in their lust for one another. She chomped down on her lower lip, watching the scene with mixed emotions. You can’t do this, Jacob! How can you be with her? Your wife loves you so much! But as she continued to watch, it was clear that his wife was the last thing on Jacob’s mind.

  “Lilah, I implore you to cease viewing this tripe.”

  She turned her head to regard the speaker, reluctantly pulling her eyes from the television screen. Tariq stood behind the sectional sofa, remote control in hand. He aimed the device to change the station, but Lilah moved like lightening, slapping it from his outstretched fingers. A half smile tickled his face, and he turned his own emerald orbs toward her, amused by the action.

  “I am watching this,” she hissed.

  “I can see that, dear sister. What I cannot understand is how you can stomach such…what is the word…crap?”

  “Tariq, I do not question your endless need to view pornography. I would say that my taste in video is quite a bit more discerning than yours.”

  “Do not get defensive. It is not a judgment, Lilah. I simply fail to comprehend your fascination with these films.”

  “The feeling is quite mutual, brother. I daresay that I prefer my thespians clothed to that of the vile grinding you seem to find so appealing and view indiscriminately on your computer night after night.” She waved a small hand, dismissing him from the room but to her irritation, he sat beside her on the sofa. She tried to ignore his closeness, but he gently turned her porcelain face toward him.

  “Tariq –” she started to argue, straining to see the movie but her brother held her firmly, his intense eyes studying her expressions pensively.

  “You have been melancholy,” he stated. Lilah began to shake her head in denial, but Tariq nodded.

  “Yes. I can see it in your eyes, Lilah. What is wrong?”

  “There is nothing,” she replied. “You are interrupting my entertainment time.”

  “It is more than that,” he insisted, tucking a strand of honey blonde hair behind her ear. “This has been manifesting for months. Each day you seem more and more desolate.”

  “You are mistaken,” Lilah answered flatly. She wrenched her chin from Tariq’s grasp and stared pointedly at the screen.

  “You made me miss what happened!” she protested, gesturing at the characters on the set. Tariq rose gracefully to his feet and snorted.

  “Lilah, you may think me a fool, but I know you have seen this film several times. I can see when I am not wanted, however. Just remember, Lilah, I am your blood, your family. I know you better than anyone, and I can sense when something is amiss. You may not feel like disclosing your concerns presently, but eventually, they will come to light.” Lilah ignored him as if he had not spoken and abruptly he swooped in, crushing his lips against hers. His tongue darted out slightly to tease her mouth, but she did not reciprocate the kiss. Suddenly he gnashed down, tearing at her full bottom lip before withdrawing, a bemused expression on his face.

  “Good night, Lilah. Sweet dreams.” He licked her sweet blood from the corner of his mouth as if it were Cabernet.

  “And to you,” she answered, still craning to see over his broad shoulders, seemingly oblivious to the line of red trickling down her cheek. As he retreated from the den, Lilah’s irises shifted to the doorway to ensure he was gone. Content that he had finally left her in peace, she sat back and wiped the blood from her face. He has stained my most cherished night clothes, Lilah thought with some annoyance as she noticed the splotch of red fluid on the otherwise pristine white gown. Again, her eyes shifted toward the dark foyer, expecting Tariq to be watching. She did not sense him there and slowly exhaled. Her brother was not wrong. She had been feeling melancholic, but the reasoning was not matter which she could easily discuss with him. It is not a matter which I can discuss with anyone, the beautiful blonde thought woefully. Therein lies my problem. Lilah was entirely alone in the world, left to battle her inner demons in solitude. She tried to return her attention to the movie, but to her dismay, the credits were rolling. The film had ended. She glanced at the green numbers on the digital receiver. It was three a.m. She could hear Tariq upstairs on the rowing machine in his room, and she sighed. Lilah had no interest in engaging in another discussion with her brother that night. I am hungry, she realized with some distress. Her cat, Amdis, wandered between Lilah’s legs, vibrating with affection. The slender woman leaned forward to scratch the animal, contemplating her options. You are not terribly hungry, she tried to convince herself. You can wait. Watch another movie, and perhaps you will sleep instead. But she could not focus, not with the idea of nourishment blossoming in her mind. Lilah found herself eyeing the cat with interest and quickly recognized she was in bad shape. She
gently pushed the calico onto the floor, rising to her feet. She headed upstairs to dress.

  “Tariq,” she called after slipping into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. “I am going out to feast.”

  Immediately he poked his head from his bedroom as if he had been waiting for her to speak.

  “Where?” he demanded, fully appearing in the dim hall. Her teal colored eyes flashed. His endless questions grow tiresome.

  “What difference could that possibly make?”

  He looked taken aback by the question, his own aqua eyes narrowing slightly.

  “I daresay, Lilah, you are becoming quite sassy. I think I much preferred your company when you were a child.”

  “I am surprised you can remember,” Lilah murmured with clipped anger, brushing past him as he moved into the hall. He reached out and grabbed her arm.

  “Lilah – “

  “Leave me be, Tariq.”

  To her surprise, he released her without an argument, but as Lilah descended the stairs, she could still feel him staring at her back. Believe me, dear brother. It is for the best that you do not know what I am thinking. She began to walk down College Street, unsure of which direction she was going, wrapped in her own thoughts. Despite its dense population, Toronto was enveloped in the arms of sleep at this hour on a Wednesday night, restaurants and bars closed tightly for the witching hour. It was as though the bustling metropolis understood the dangers which lurked the streets after 2 a.m. and prepared itself accordingly. As Lilah walked, she was shrouded in her own thoughts, trying to ignore the energy slowly seeping from her body. With each step she took, she became increasingly weak. I must find something to eat. I cannot carry on this way. College Street turned into Carlton, and Lilah found herself turning onto Church Street. She knew where she was heading; St. Michael’s Cathedral. It was the safest place and wrought with potential. As she crossed over Shuter Street, she stepped toward the apartment building walls, hoping to cloak herself in the darkness. Emergency vehicles had blocked off the entire section of the street. Lilah lowered her head, her pace increasing as she slipped by, a mere shadow against the flashing lights. She wished she had thought to bring her sunglasses with her. When she had escaped the blinding rays, she bound across the street toward the historic basilica. The courtyard was dimly lit, there were only three streetlamps in the entire interior, and Lilah welcomed the adjustment against the commotion she had just witnessed. Her aquamarine eyes slowly gazed about. Surprisingly, she only saw a lone bum, sitting on the bench across from the steps. On such a warm spring night, it was unusual to see less than half a dozen of the city’s homeless in various stages of unrest. Lilah drew closer to the man and realized that he was asleep in his seated position. Her stomach cried out, and a wave of dizziness warned her that she was weakening with each passing moment. He is slender, but he will have to suffice, she told herself, closing the distance between them. Her fangs throbbed at the nearness of the kill. Her pale hand reached out to gently brush the long, dark waves of hair from his neck. Like a streak of lightening in a perfectly clear summer sky, her wrist was in the confines of a vice grip. The hobo turned to face her and Lilah instantly realized her mistake. He was neither a vagrant nor was he asleep. His white face seemed to glow against the gloom of the churchyard, his crystal blue eyes almost transparent. Drops of blood streaked his face his nose was misshapen as if he had recently been engaged in battle. His full, red lips pulled back into a sneer, revealing ivory teeth, clenched in anger.