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

  “There’s a good girl,” he whispered against her ear. “You can be good for me, can’t you?”

  He grated on her nerves. She’d no more serve him than the master. All any of them wanted was her acquiescence. She wasn’t raised to serve any man, human or unnatural. When she regained her strength, she would flee from them all.

  Arsen assumed the master vampire had ways of keeping track of his changelings and would be upon them once he discovered the theft. He rode hard to consecrated ground, guided by dwindling moonlight and sheer determination. Luck was on his side, or maybe the gods had finally blessed him with good fortune, for his horse’s gait remained true as they reached hallowed ground.

  The Church of the Five stood in the shelter of ancient fig trees with trunks so broad and twisting that ten men could not reach around their bases. The cool Autumn air was perfumed with the scent of ripened and fermenting fruit scattered inside the knee-high grasses. Along the overgrown path leading to the church foundation stones of a former town dotted the land like a rotten smile of broken and missing teeth.

  Arsen was unsure of why or how the town had ceased existence, but the fact that the church remained was a good sign for him. He’d taken to sleeping on consecrated grounds with increasing paranoia and knew where every church, cemetery, and mausoleum lay for miles in every direction.

  The woman had passed out at some point in the ride. She was a slight thing--small and cold in his arms. He maneuvered his way off the horse and pulled her into his arms like a sack of potatoes. The fact that she did not stir didn’t bother him. He pushed into the abandoned church, half-expecting her to burst into flames. When nothing happened, he began to question whether the grounds would give any protection to them from the master vampire or not. Or perhaps the fact that she wasn’t fully turned allowed her some of the protections of man? He couldn’t know, but doubt grew like a seedling in his mind.

  Laying her on a pew bench, he returned to the outside to tend to his horse. The flanks were wet with lather, and he removed the saddle and blanket to give him a quick brush down so he didn’t take with sickness. The horse snuffled with approval as he finished.

  He dug through the tall grass and found a few figs he stuck into a bag on his belt. Fresh fruit at this time in the season was a welcome addition to dried meat and beans.

  Water was next on his list. An old fountain with a pump stood on the side yard, presumably to water the tired and poor who visited the church. He primed the pump and filled the long, curved stone cavity with water for his grazing horse. He washed his hands and face, then filled his palms with water to drink himself before refilling his water skin. He took the saddle and supply bags inside, checking on the girl to find she had not moved from where he’d placed her.

  Mice scurried along the edges of the dark interior, frightened away by his presence and the girl’s. He checked the perimeter and the narrow slots that allowed light and fresh air to enter the building, assured she had no way of slipping through the narrow windows—unless she had the power to shrink to the width of his palm. The only other way out was the front door.

  Arsen blocked that entrance and exit with his pallet, munching on figs and quenching himself with a swig from his skin. With his needs met, he settled back to catch a few hours of sleep.

  How long that sleep lasted before he was disturbed, he didn’t know. Certainly not enough if the soreness in his muscles and sleep fogged mind were any indication. He’d always been a light sleeper. Perhaps it was years of sleeping under the stars with the threat of bears or wolves sneaking upon him whilst he slept that had honed his instincts into what they were now. He cared not.

  Arsen remained still, keeping the slow cadence of his breathing as if he were undisturbed. The soft scrape on the stone floor of foot pad against grit sand was so slight as to be almost inaudible. He might have mistaken it for a mouse had it not come from the pews and through the center of the building. And truth be told, mice were louder than this, less preoccupied with traveling lightly and clumsier. This was a steady, careful tread that could only belong to the girl.

  He retained his pretense of sleeping, allowing her to come closer to the door. When she stepped over him, he sprang into action, grabbing her foot and yanking her down atop him. She squeaked in surprise as she fell heavily onto his chest and stomach, narrowly missing his ballocks with her knee. Arsen twisted a thigh to protect his precious family jewels before she could think to flatten them.

  “Little brown mouse, how come you fall? Were I an owl you would be a tasty meal to feast upon. Haven’t you learned not to tempt a monster’s hunger by now?”

  “You made me fall,” she said indignantly, muttering an unintelligible curse beneath her breath. Her voice held a husky quality, like that of a heavy drinker, but he knew she was parched.

  She struggled to release herself from his arms, yet she possessed no inhuman strength to break free. A weak changeling, he thought. He was curious why her master would release her in this fragile state. Perhaps she would not be the lure he desired to draw his prey into a trap.

  “You’ve no right to keep me here. He will come,” she seethed.

  “I pray that he does.”

  “Why? So you can die too? You have no idea how many he has killed just for the sport of it. Not even to feed. He delights in torture and misery. I…I think he thrives on it more than blood.”

  A muscle twitched in his jaw. He clenched his teeth to make it stop. “I’ve a good notion of his capabilities. You confirm my suspicions it is he I seek. But then, I’ve only had evidence of one vampire terrorizing the lands. No other is foolish enough to risk breaking the boundaries of the pact.”

  “I would not say he is a fool.”

  “A fool to release you on your own. How long have you been his prisoner?”

  She snatched her head back as he gave a little roll and moved her onto the pallet beside him opposite the door. “Your elbow was making it hard to draw breath,” he said.

  “I didn’t think you had any weak spots as big as you are,” Amaria said. “You needn’t hold me so tight.”

  He chuckled. “And risk losing you with my guard down? How many powers have you been given?”

  “Enough,” she whispered.

  “You’ll have to kill me to flee,” he said with a smirk. “Where sleeps your master?”

  “That can be arranged if you are ready to meet your maker,” she whispered. Amaria freed a hand and scratched his arm before he snaked a hand around her wrist and trapped it beside her hip.

  She was cold and stiff, with her curves wasting away from sickness and starvation. Perhaps she’d been thicker and more lively before being taken away from whence she came. He pitied her, but he couldn’t allow her to just leave. He needed her for one reason alone—she would draw her master. When he was done she could be on her way. What could he say or do to gain her trust?

  “Calm yourself, little mouse. You did not answer my question,” he said.

  “I do not know the answer. I have not seen the sun in many days. He kept me shrouded in darkness with hunger and fear as my only companions.”

  She was hungry. Thirsty. He considered his options. “He did not feed you?”

  “How could I take the life of another?” her voice broke, and the reality of what the vampire had done hit Arsen fully.

  “You are of the sun people. Truth?” he asked.

  “Aye.” She stiffened, her mouth falling open in a silent scream of pain. “Death is welcome, but still I cling to this life.”

  He sat up, freeing her from the manacles of his hands and withdrew a small blade from his belt. “I will keep you alive if you are willing.” He made a small slice on his thumb. Blood welled instantly, and he held the digit towards her.

  She seemed at once repulsed and drawn. Her growing vampiric hunger won over revulsion and she sucked his thumb into her mouth, drinking of the life-giving fluid. As he watched, her complexion deepened from an ashy grey to a warm, healthy brown. Her eyes brightene
d as the glassy haze disappeared.

  The sensation of her tongue against the calloused pad and her suckling made his insides twitch with vibrations of pleasure. That sensation was unforeseen. He found himself unable to look away from the magnetism of her golden brown eyes that seemed to glow in the dark with a life of their own. Tingles coursed down his hand as she drew his blood from his body, and he could easily see why the vampire race earned the reputation of seductive killers. She was not full-turned. How would he fare against one in full possession of their powers? The thought was unpleasant.

  With an effort, he pulled his hand free of her mouth. “That’s enough for now. More tomorrow should you need it.” He wrapped a cloth around the pad to stem the blood flow, puzzled to see it didn’t stop immediately as it should. Something in her saliva must keep the wound open, he thought, realizing he could not allow her to feed from the same area again.

  She wiped her mouth, looking taken aback by her own actions but thankful at the same time. Maybe she could be of use to him—if she didn’t die or turn first.

  “We travel at dawn. I’m a light sleeper. Don’t think of leaving without me,” Arsen muttered, settling back down on his blankets.

  Chapter 2

  Whispers chattered inside Amaria’s mind that night. A bellyful and the radiating warmth of her captor lulled her into a fitful sleep. She’d grown accustomed to sleeping the day and remaining in fearful wakefulness at night, keeping the hours of her master, Ezantor. Merely thinking the name in a dreamy haze conjured the foul whisperings of his voice in her head.

  Amaria. Kill and return to me. Amaria! Ezantor taunted in her dreams.

  The sun’s rays shafted through the narrow window slots, falling upon her closed eyelids and beckoning them open to escape her nightmares. She squinted in the dimness, wondering if anything she heard was real or imagined—the beginnings of madness or did the master have an unseen connection to her that he tugged in her weakened state?

  Amaria turned her head to see the man who’d saved her for his own purposes. Decked in a bear’s fur, he’d looked like some beast to her, but in his sleep his hard-edged features softened. Cruelty didn’t twist his mouth or nose in a perpetual sneer. With the morning light she could appreciate the long curls of his lashes without the intensity of his stare. His strong jaw was relaxed and unclenched. His thick eyebrows twitched as if he subconsciously knew her gaze fell upon his in study.

  His bare thigh pressed against the thin fabric covering her legs, so hot the fabric was negligible as protection against sensation. He hadn’t removed his belt or the fur trimmed leather loincloth covering his groin halfway to his knees. Was he modest or did a serpent of considerable size lay in wait beneath the covering? Why the seductive turn in her thoughts? She had no designs on him.

  She was no maiden and hadn’t been in many years, but neither had she chosen to take a husband. She’d been a long time without the comforting presence of a man in her bed. Was it his keenness on freeing her from the others that provoked her curiosity?

  She was surprised the thick muscles of his torso could generate so much heat and feel welcoming and protective as she slept. Perhaps that was the reason for her intrigue and this compulsion to touch the silken skin of his belly that rippled with muscles and an enigmatic trail of hair that disappeared beneath his belt. Amaria remembered his arm tucked around her, and murmurs of a name.

  She searched her memory, trying to recall what he’d mumbled in his sleep. “Isa,” she said softly, questioning herself even as she uttered the woman’s name.

  The soft utterance broke through Arsen’s slumber. He sat up and looked at her and all illusions of softness melted away, replaced with anger and loss—beneath that glowed rage in his green eyes. “How do you know this name?” he asked. “Do you steal into my mind like a thief?”

  She shook her head taken aback by the change in him. “No. You speak in your sleep. I think.”

  His expression hardened until his face looked to be made of stone. The chill of his gaze was like ice, his rage fire. She felt a flicker of fear.

  “And what else did I share with you?” he finally demanded in a chilling growl.

  Amaria shook her head, unable to command her voice, to dredge any denial from her mind she thought he was likely to accept. She swallowed with an effort against the fear that knotted in her throat. She should not feel it, she told herself. She was prepared to die to escape the fate her master, Ezantor, had designed for her, wasn’t she?

  She had told herself she was.

  And yet…

  She realized she had only accepted death as an escape. The desire for it was not there. She had not given up hope that she could defeat him and escape. And she could not accept the pain that would open that portal for her. She was not prepared for that. “I heard nothing else,” she managed to say finally. “Truly, I did not!”

  He did not look convinced and she searched her mind for anything that might convince him when he had no trust--of her or likely anyone else living. “I was not even certain that I had heard that correctly,” she added lamely.

  For some moments more he remained steely-eyed and suspicious. After a time, however, he seemed to relax fractionally and that eased her anxiety.

  He got up, stretched, and then retrieved his bedroll, rolling her from it and onto the freezing stone floor—not with the appearance of disregard for her comfort, but more as if he had completely dismissed her from his mind. “Relieve yourself. Drink your fill of water … if that is something you still have need of. We must move while we have light.”

  Amaria thought her dignity bruised more than her body but being dumped on the hard floor so abruptly did not come without pain. Still, she stifled the urge to gasp and groan and grunt as she hauled herself laboriously to her feet. She was stiff as bedamned, though, and it took an effort.

  A wasted endeavor as it transpired, for the hunter had turned away at once and busied himself with making a tight bundle of his bedroll and tying it up.

  Amaria struggled with her resentment, glanced around the derelict chapel and then narrowed her eyes against the near blinding morning light pouring through the open doorway as Arsen stepped outside. Sighing, bracing herself, she trudged outside behind him.

  As gentle as the morning light was, she began to feel the pain and burn almost the moment it caressed her skin. His shadow was all that sheltered her from the pain, she realized, but he had bidden her prepare herself to go and she saw no reason to question that he meant immediately. He had at least offered her a few moments to find what comfort she could for herself, she reflected. Precious little consideration when all was said and done, but then again he was clearly a hard man from the life he led, and driven beyond that with a rage to find revenge. She thought she was probably fortunate to have even that much consideration.

  The villagers he had rescued her from certainly had not offered any sympathy at all.

  She found the well mostly by chance, feeling her way with great difficulty, and then drank what she could as quickly as she could before she searched for a place to relieve herself that would offer a little privacy without desecrating the graves of the deceased.

  She hurried the best she could, but she could see impatience in his stance when she returned. He said nothing, merely grasped her waist and lifted her to the back of the beast. She sucked in a sharp breath at the pain in spite of her determination not to show him any more of her weaknesses than she could help, biting her lip to contain it as she settled and refusing to meet his hard gaze.

  For a long moment he studied her, and then he paused long enough to pull a blanket from his pack and mounted. Pulling her onto his lap, he shook the blanket open and covered her with it, taking a surprising amount of care to tuck it around her completely and leaving no skin exposed to daylight.

  The pain began to ease immediately.

  Grateful, she settled uneasily against his hard chest, unearthed her precious amulet from the bodice of her dress and grasped it tightly, pr
aying for strength—to endure, to overcome, to triumph.

  Arsen was not happy with his thoughts as he headed out.

  His mind was not as clear and focused as it had been, he realized, and that was deeply troubling--unnerving. He had to be strong, ruthless, and fearless or he would lose and this was one battle he was determined he would not lose. He could not afford defeat or he would lose his soul and not just his life.

  In all the time since he had made the horrible discovery and his life had been forever changed, he had not allowed himself to think beyond avenging their deaths--had turned his mind away each time memories of them surfaced.

  He could not bear to remember, even when time should have numbed his agony. The pain was too great. It weakened him when he could not afford to be weak.

  But they had crept into his dreams to torment him with his loss.

  Again and again, he shook the memory of the dream from his mind and tried to focus on his task and only the task at hand, but it was as if a gate had opened that he could not close again. Flickering images of the past teased at the fringes of his mind even when he tried to concentrate on assessing his surroundings, searching for signs that he had successfully baited his trap.

  Amaria had thought that the hunter, Arsen, had forgotten his promise to allow her to feed again but, once they had settled and were on their way, he offered the pricked thumb of his other hand. Her throat closed at once with desperate need. She wanted to seize the offered nourishment and appease the deep, aching hunger.

  At the same time, reluctance boiled inside her and she felt herself recoiling from her own desires--from the force of it…from the focus of it.

  She would become a monster if she could not fight this thing raging inside her. She’d never known such insatiable need before. In the end, she could not resist the temptation of the blood scenting the air. The hunger ran too deeply. And beyond that, she was weak and knew she would only grow weaker if she refused—too weak to fight the vampire. Too weak to save herself.