Taming the Vampire: Over 25 All New Paranormal Alpha Male Tales of Contemporary, Military, Shifters, Billionaires, Werewolves, Magic, Fae, Witches, Dragons, Demons & More

by Mandy M. Roth

  Wind blasts in my car as I crack the windows, and I breathe in the salty air. My hand covers my heart as I’m filled with unexplained joy. As if I can speak to my heart donor, I say, “We’re almost there.”

  As I get closer to my new home, I notice unusually tall wrought-iron gates surrounding the property. I’ve pondered many possibilities for why Sebastian Hart requires legally binding secrecy. They range from disfigurement to mafia boss, and when I Googled the man, I found absolutely nothing. Considering this is real life and not a movie, I guess he’s just overzealous about his privacy. He’s good at it too, because I thought everyone could be found on the Internet.

  When it’s time to turn in the drive, I encounter a security panel. I expected it, and I was told to hit the button to be buzzed in. My window hums as I lower it, and I push the intercom. A voice that makes me think of an old woman asks, “Margaret Evans?”

  I gaze up at the security camera and wonder what would happen if I said no. “Yes.”

  “Enter.”

  The gates creak open automatically, and I drive through them. The house before me is enormous, and my quick count reveals four stories above ground. The siding is aged cedar shingles, and the trim is navy blue, which would make one think it’s a typical oceanfront mansion in Maine. But something tells me this place is far from ordinary.

  I notice a rectangular section of asphalt off to the left, and I pull in to park. I was told to bring only one bag of personal items, because clothing would be provided for me. That is definitely a job perk to me, because this girl loves the idea of a new wardrobe I suspect won’t be coming from the discount places I usually shop. I send my mother a quick text telling her I arrived safely and I’ll call tomorrow after my first day of work to let her know how it goes.

  My drive was almost six hours, and except for one bathroom stop, I didn’t move much. I slip on my heels before I get out of my car and stretch my arms up over my head. My muscles tighten in objection until I work out the kinks. Something in a window on the top floor of the Hart mansion moves, and my mind quickly envisions a crazy woman locked up there. I roll my eyes at my active imagination as I tug on my fitted blouse. I wore the pencil skirt too, but right now the wrinkles from sitting for so long make me wish I’d opted for yoga pants and an oversized tee. My attempt at impressing my new boss is lame, and if I’m going to arrive looking like a frumpy mess, it would have been nice to be comfortable.

  I grab my bag from the back of my car, and the strap cuts into my shoulder with the weight when I hoist it up to carry it before I slam the hatch shut. I’m about to hit the button on my remote to lock my vehicle, when I stop myself and glance around. I drive a beat-up Subaru that’s on its last legs. If someone got past the gates to get in here and wants it, they can have it.

  I make my way to the house. It’s definitely been here a while judging by the thick oak tree on the front lawn I imagine is close to one hundred years old. Once I climb the steps to the small porch, I notice there is an actual doorknocker. It’s a huge brass ring that could likely fit over my head, and it’s held by an ornate dragon’s mouth. The red jewels for his eyes sparkle at me. I wonder if they’d move to follow me too. By all rights I should be freaked out by the creepy mansion before me, but I’m not. My heart is happy, as if I’ve come home from a long trip, and I can’t find it in myself not to trust the feeling. I think my donor has memories here, and that makes me curious. The ring is heavy when I lift it to knock, and it clacks loudly.

  A woman who appears to be as old as the house answers the door. I smile. “Hi. I’m Maggie.”

  She doesn’t return the warmth, but she steps aside to let me in without speaking a word. I think to myself I’m going to have to kill her with kindness when my heart conveys to me, “Don’t bother.” The way the previous owner of my heart speaks to me isn’t conventional or even like one might imagine telepathic people communicate. She talks to me by giving me an emotion. As far as I can tell, they’re spot on.

  Once I get inside I notice the entryway is formal, with the largest crystal chandelier I’ve ever seen barely lit to a pale yellow. After the bright sunshine outdoors, it takes me a moment to adjust to the dim lighting, and my bag thuds when I set it down. I look to the woman to find out what I’m supposed to do, and she walks away so fast that by the time I figure out she wants me to follow I have to jog a few steps to catch up. Which totally sucks in heels, and I’m grateful when I don’t twist an ankle. She leads me to a pair of heavy wood doors, judging by the way she strains to tug them open. She says, “Margaret Evans is here,” in a tone that makes me think I’m being introduced to a king.

  I enter the room, which is also dark, and I gaze at the two men, who stare at me. My heart nearly bursts with a warm gush of emotions that make me giddy, as if I’ve found a long-lost lover. Oh my god! Was my organ donor in love with one of these men? They’re much younger than I expected, and I place the stockier one in his twenties. The other man is tall and lean, and I guess he could be early thirties. But he may just seem older to me because of his serious expression and stately posture.

  “Oh, Sebastian,” says the one who appears to be younger, “look at her hair.” He steps up to me, and the thud of the doors at my back makes me feel abandoned by the silent woman. The man’s hand hovers in the air as he asks, “May I?”

  I gaze into the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen, set into a face that has skin so pale it’s almost translucent. But he’s not delicate in stature. His broad shoulders and narrow hips make me think he’s hiding an athletic body. Just my type, and I resist the urge to purr with my attraction. “Ah.” I think he wants to touch my hair, so I say, “Sure.”

  He tugs on one of my curls that are a natural shade of red thanks to my Irish heritage, and when he lets go he grins. “They bounce,” he says. My god, that mouth. His lower lip has a pouty plumpness that makes me want to nibble it. Hey heart, I approve.

  Sebastian watches us with a stony face, but while he appears to be disapproving, my heart responds when I look at him. My stomach sinks, because I think Sebastian is who my heart wants. I inhale sharply at the effect he has on my body too. He’s definitely not the kind I go for. His stern look makes me think he’s not going to enjoy my sense of humor. But I gaze at Sebastian, in a trance, as the other man walks a circle around me and begins a rant about cheap clothing that is too tight around my hips but too big around my waist, as if I didn’t know. I’d be insulted, but the way Alexander speaks, it’s as if my clothing choice is someone else’s fault. I’m too mesmerized by Sebastian to care. My legs propel me forward as if I’m a marionette being controlled by someone else, and I hold out my hand as I say, “Maggie Evans, and you must be Mr. Hart.”

  He doesn’t take my hand, or look at it. Instead he stares at me as though I’m something the cat dragged in. My heart deflates as if I’ve disappointed him.

  The chatty man chuckles and says, “Hmm, seems you’ve left my brother speechless, Margaret. Interesting.”

  I continue to stare at Sebastian, and my heart begs me to go to him and hold him in my arms as if I need to apologize. I’m not sure what I’ve walked into here. But I think there’s a good reason I’m sworn to secrecy, and I’m not leaving until I find out.

  Chapter 2

  The talkative guy has finished his assessment of my clothing and says, “I’m Alexander Hart.” At least someone here is friendly, and I smile as I say, “Call me Maggie.”

  Sebastian says--no, he commands, “We’ll be calling you Margaret. For now.”

  I glare at him for a second before I hide my anger from my new boss. Hey, heart. This guy doesn’t seem so into us. What gives? Of course I don’t get an answer, and I wonder if maybe she was in love with Sebastian and he never returned the feelings. As if that’s not going to be awkward. I nod and smile when I remember I’m an employee and it’s a good idea not to piss off your boss the first time you meet him. I say, “Margaret.” God, I hate that name. It reminds me of doctors who never seemed to have goo
d things to tell me, and I wonder if he knows it.

  He swallows hard, and I notice his eyes are a deeper shade of green than his brother’s, but his skin is just as pale. It’s striking and matches the strong angles of his face. The Hart brothers are very attractive men, each in their own way. What I think is pain flashes over Sebastian’s face, and I wonder if he’s ill. He says, “Dinner is in an hour. I suggest you unpack and change your clothes.” He turns to his brother. “Alexander, show Margaret to her room.”

  I leave happily, and I’d be tempted to keep right on walking out the door if it weren’t for Alexander. He grabs my bag and climbs up the stairs before me. He says, “You’re going to love it here. Wait until you see your view.” I grab the handrail, and it’s firm in my grip. This one’s working just fine. I watch his butt flex as he moves ahead of me.

  He takes me up to the top floor, where the ceilings are low. My room is on the right, and he opens a dark-stained wooden door to reveal a space similar to a small living room. The colors are cranberry and faded pinks with lots of cream. There’s a love seat and large chair with an ottoman, along with a coffee table and small bookcase, which is empty. Another door leads to my bedroom. It’s even brighter, in mostly white with small splashes of purple color in the floral comforter and throw pillows. The three floor-to-ceiling windows along the wall are what capture my attention and make me gasp. I walk over to one and gaze out at the glittering ocean. I place my hand on the glass, and it’s cool under my fingers as I say, “Wow.”

  “Oh good.” I turn to Alexander, and his eyes get big for dramatic effect. He’s at the far side of the room, where it’s barely illuminated by the windows. “This would have been horrid if you had a fear of the water.”

  “Yes.” I smile at him.

  Alexander walks over to a doorway, and it leads to a small room that appears to be a closet and dressing room, with racks for clothing and shoes as well as a standing full-length mirror. I notice the bathroom is just beyond it. There are only a few items of clothing, and he says, “Roland is coming tomorrow to fit you.” A hanger clatters as he lifts an emerald-green silk dress and holds it up for me. It’s long, and the cut is slender. The silk shimmers as I notice a neckline high enough to cover my scar. “This is what you should wear to dinner,” he says.

  I reach out, and the fabric is luxuriously soft on my fingers when I touch it. “It’s gorgeous.”

  “Yes...” Alexander frowns as if he’s lost in thought. He snaps himself out of it and says, “Well then. I’ll let you get settled.” He steps into the bathroom, and I think he’s checking to make sure everything is okay. He comes back out and says, “The dining room is on the first floor, but we’ll have drinks in the study first. That’s the room where we just met.”

  “Got it. Thank you.”

  He slaps the doorframe once before he leaves, and the solid door thuds shut behind him. I walk around my section of the house, which resembles an apartment. The floor is thick slabs of dark wood covered with floral throw rugs, and when I check out the bathroom I sigh in pleasure. A large claw-foot tub gleams in an invitation to take a bath, and I long to soak in it. This room is also white, and it strikes me as odd how bright my space is compared to the rest of the mansion.

  I return to my bedroom, and a drawer in my white dresser scrapes as I open it. A light scent of lilac wafts out, and I discover a small sachet along with three bra-and-panty sets. I lift up the fine lace, and it’s smooth under my fingers. While it looks functional, I don’t think I’ve ever held prettier lingerie. I remove the cream-colored set and place them on my bed to change into for dinner. When I pull out my plain cotton underwear from my bag it appears worn and dowdy in comparison to what’s in my bureau, and I opt to put them back in my bag for now. I could easily become a snob at this rate.

  I freshen up and get dressed for dinner. When I’m almost ready I gaze at my reflection in the full-length mirror. The combination of wearing fabrics that caress my body and the fit of my dress makes me feel beautiful. I put my hair up, and when I recall Alexander saying my curls bounce, I tug a few out to frame my face. Then I think about Sebastian. My heart sends twinges of desire to the pit of my belly as I imagine his approval. Silly heart. I think pleasing Sebastian is going to be a difficult task that will take more than a pretty gown. I put on the black patent-leather pumps I find in my closet, and my heels click as I walk toward the door.

  A girl could get a workout in this house just using the stairs. I descend three flights and take a deep breath to fill my lungs with much-needed oxygen before I make my way to the study. The doors are open, and the formality of the house makes me pause as if I’m eighteenth-century royalty who should make an entrance. I glance over at the two love seats set before a crackling fire.

  Both men are standing by a wet bar, and Alexander places his hand on his chest when he sees me. “Simply stunning, Margaret.”

  I walk toward them as my cheeks flush with heat. “Thank you.” I glance at Sebastian, and now my foolish heart makes my insides tremble, because he’s looking at me as if I am beautiful. He actually cracks a smile.

  “Yes. You look lovely.”

  I’m taken aback at this version of my boss and say, “Thank you, sir.”

  “Sebastian.” His voice is warm and soft, and my heart is melting into a puddle as he says, “Please.”

  I speak with the same softness. “Sebastian.” His name rolls of my tongue in a sensual way, and I have a sudden desire to keep repeating it.

  Fortunately, Alexander asks, “Would you like champagne or wine?”

  The men appear to have red wine in their glasses judging by the burgundy liquid, but I’d prefer the options Sebastian presented me with and wonder how they know. I say, “Champagne would be wonderful and fitting for tonight. I feel as if I’ve stepped into a wonderful opportunity.”

  A cork pops, and Sebastian says, “That’s because it is.”

  A flicker of anger in my heart surprises me, but I’m distracted when Alexander hands me my glass, and I sip the bubbly liquid. It’s smooth in flavor, and I lick my lips after I swallow it down. “This is delicious.”

  “Renault is one of my favorites too,” says Alexander. I meet his gaze, and a tiny tremor races through me.

  I feel the weight of Sebastian’s gaze and turn to discover his eyes have narrowed, and I ask, “When do I find out what my duties are?”

  He says, “Tomorrow. Tonight we’d like to learn more about you.”

  I smile. “I’m not sure what I can tell you that you don’t already know.” I think about the endless documents I had to produce for this job. “Besides the things I provided you, the social life of my grade-school years is documented on social media, which I’m sure you checked. My medical records tell you what I did when everyone else went off to universities and why I could only afford a community college education.”

  “I want to know your dreams. Tell us, Margaret, what do you want out of life?”

  To be loved by a man who makes me want for nothing else. I take a sip of my champagne to think for a moment about how to answer. “Most of my life all I wanted was to be healthy so I could live. And when I got a new heart, all I wanted was for my body to accept it so I could live.” I shrug. “I guess now my goal is to really live.”

  Alexander and Sebastian exchange glances that make me think they’re concerned. What about, I can’t imagine. It’s not as if I said I wanted to be a rock star or actress and they have to figure out how to let me down easy.

  Sebastian says, “You’ll have to tell us what really living is for you, Margaret.”

  The way he repeats my phrase sounds condescending, and I’d feel shamed if my heart didn’t trip over the attention. This day is getting stranger and stranger.

  Alexander glances at his wrist, and I notice a square-shaped watch that looks like the latest technology. It seems odd he’d wear a plastic timepiece when his appearance suggests he’s an antique-watch kind of guy. His smile covers his face when he says, “Ap
parently you can teach an old dog new tricks.” He winks at me. “Bertha’s learning to text. It’s time for dinner.”

  I guess he’s talking about the woman who greeted me earlier, and I stifle my laughter at him calling her an old dog. The way Sebastian’s glaring at Alexander tells me he is not amused by his brother. Hey, heart, your love is kind of uptight. I follow Alexander as he leads us to the dining room.

  The table is large enough for at least eight people, but it’s set for three. Sebastian cuts his brother off when he tries to seat me, and I let the older brother push my chair in as if I’m a child. I would be flattered if I believed they were fighting over me, but I think the power struggle is about something else. Alexander takes the place across from me, while Sebastian sits at the head of the table. I glance between the two brothers and consider my situation. My heart is attracted to Sebastian, while I prefer Alexander. I’m sure I shouldn’t get involved with either one, but when you live life not knowing how much longer you’ve got, worrying about the future doesn’t matter. I swallow down the last of my champagne and smile. Things are about to get very interesting.

  Chapter 3

  Bertha wheels in a rolling cart with plates that have fancy metal covers, and they rattle when she removes them. She presents us all with dinners arranged as if we’re at an expensive restaurant. I gaze down at my filet mignon set on top of what I think is potatoes, and there’s a side of asparagus. The aroma of the beef makes my mouth water as I wait for her to finish serving us. A decanter of red wine is on the table as well as a small carafe of white, and Bertha pours me a glass of the white before she fills the men’s glasses with more of the red.

  I try to catch her eye, but she won’t look at me, so I say, “This looks wonderful. Thank you.”

  The woman ignores me and stands by Sebastian. He says, “That will be all. Thank you, Bertha.”