INSTINCT (The Elite Book 1)

by Hanleigh Bradley

  INSTINCT

  Author Friends With Benefits

  www.authorfriendswithbenefits.com

  Copyright © 2019 by Hanleigh Bradley

  www.hanleighbradley.com

  hanleigh@hanleighbradley.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  This book is licensed for your personal use only.

  Please respect the authors work and refrain from sharing it with others. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

  The characters, organisations and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Dear Reader,

  This series might get a little dark.

  It might break your heart.

  There’s no guarantee that happiness.

  There is only death.

  Hanleigh

  INSTINCT

  His was to bite me. Mine was to run.

  Prologue

  I knew it. Everything about him was dangerous. I didn’t need a brain to tell me that. It was clear in the way my entire body reacted to him. It wasn’t just telling me to be careful, it outright demanded that I run for my life.

  Except my feet were glued to the ground. I was completely incapable of moving even an inch.

  His stare was deadly. It told me that as much as my instinct was to run, his was something altogether more sinister. His instinct, whatever it was, was one that warranted mine.

  In that moment, with that small distance between us, I knew that I should run. Every cell in my body was screaming at me to run for my life. But logically I knew I’d never win. Even on that very first day, I knew I couldn’t outrun him.

  I knew I wouldn’t live.

  Chapter One

  Everette

  It’s been a long time since I was human. So long in fact that I can no longer recall the once precious memories of that small, insignificant fraction of time. The things that once mattered deeply to the human me, are long gone and completely forgotten.

  I don’t remember my sister’s name or the sound of my mother’s voice. Neither can I recollect the face of the woman I once loved.

  All I have now is time, blood and death.

  Too much time. Never enough blood. And a death that comes to everyone but me.

  Sitting in an almost completely hidden corner of the café, I watch her as she busies herself behind the counter. I can smell her blood from here as it pulses through her veins.

  If I was human, the scent of her blood would be unnoticeable. Instead, I’d notice her large, sparkly eyes or something equally sickeningly sentimental. Or I’d lose my mind over her tiny waist and long legs – just like the human men around me.

  I’m not the only one watching her. They are too. Dozens of them. Some sat alone, their eyes focused on her. Others in packs, talking about her in hushed voices so that she won’t hear as they place lots on the size of her breasts.

  I’m not the only one that wants her. Nowhere close. But I’m the only one whose interest is deadly.

  Another waitress approaches my table and asks for my order. She’s pretty, her blood is pulsing just like the other waitress, but it’s not the same.

  Ordering an Americano, I barely look her way before returning my attention to the woman behind the counter.

  Her hair is jet black and piled on her head in a bun. It’s messy, like she shoved it up on her way to work after sleeping in. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s about twenty-five or twenty-six.

  There’s a book on the counter beside her and she keeps, as if instinctively, reaching for it. The pages are old, worn, some turned at the corner. It’s a book she’s read not once or twice but countless times.

  “Farah, why don’t you take your break?” another employee says casually, his voice low.

  She smiles at him, seemingly not registering the effect that small gesture has on him. Her hand once more reaches for the book, this time picking it up. Then she’s walking out from behind the counter.

  A sea of eyes follows her as she makes her way across the room.

  She walks right past my table and the scent of her blood is so potent that I almost follow her through the door labelled “staff only.”

  Killing her would be quick. Easy. Done before anyone even noticed. But that would be a waste. Her blood was made to be savoured.

  My eyes trained on the door, I wait, hopeful that she will return. I begin to count the seconds as I struggle to control myself. If I was a lesser Vampire, I’d be long gone through that door and Farah would already be dead.

  More like stone than a person, I force myself to stay in my seat, barely even breathing as I wait impatiently. The other waitress returns with my coffee and I don’t so much as look at her.

  She tries to make conversation, commenting that she’s never seen me here before. I don’t tell her that she’s right. I also don’t tell her that I followed Farah here. She’d be calling the police within seconds, not that they’d do her any good.

  Another human calls out to the waitress and she has no choice but to leave me alone, her face crestfallen.

  ***

  It’s almost an hour later when Farah returns, her book still in hand. Her eyes meet mine for a split second as she walks past my table again. I see fear there and it’s exhilarating.

  My eyes follow her as she returns to her place behind the counter. I’m practically salivating at the mere idea of drinking her blood as I lean back in my chair, playing with my signet ring, seemingly at ease. I might look calm but I’m not. Nowhere close.

  It would take seconds; I could be across the café in two, my fangs at her neck in half and she’d be dead in another three, long before the others around us would even realise that something was wrong.

  The temptation is almost unbearable.

  Standing, I pull out my wallet and drop a couple of notes on the table to pay for my coffee. Then I take a step towards her before hesitating. I tell myself not to waste her blood; a quick death just wouldn’t do her taste justice.

  So, instead, I make to walk past her, telling myself that I can wait. Reaching out quicker than she can see, I take her dog-eared book from where she’s left it on the counter before making my way towards the door, all the while telling myself that I must not look back. It would only take a brief moment of hesitance for all my self-control to crumble.

  Crossing the road, I settle in to wait for her shift to end. I lift her book to get a better look at it. My lips twitch when I see the cover. Her book is about Vampires.

  It’s almost laughable. Only humans would fancy themselves in love with their natural predator.

  Chapter Two

  Everette

  I wait for her outside, long after the café closes, hardly inconspicuous as I stand in the pouring rain with an umbrella overhead, next to a bus stop sign.

  I don’t care though.

  It doesn’t really matter if I’m seen. The whole world could notice me, even find out that I’m a Vampire, and I’d still get away with killing her.

  That’s just the way the world works.

  The humans naively believe that they rule the world but what they don’t know is that their politicians all work for us. We decide who lives and dies. We decide who deserves to be punished. We decide it all and give them the illusion of choice. They would be grateful if they knew, either that or scared out of their minds.

  That might be more l
ikely but they should be grateful.

  Without us, they’d destroy the planet and destroy each other. They thank the bloody politicians for the empty prisons after all. What they don’t know is that crime of any kind is a capital offence.

  We kill, devour and destroy anyone who breaks the law indiscriminately.

  The humans don’t realise, of course. They have no idea until they break the law themselves by which point it is simply too late.

  We’re the hidden elite, the people concealed behind the tinted windows of the expensive cars that the humans gawk at on the streets.

  The list of the world’s richest people is over ninety percent Vampire. Occasionally, new money will rise up the ranks but it’s never long before they’re turned. It only takes mingling amongst the world’s elite once or twice to realise that nothing is as it seems and then there’s no choice.

  There’s no going back.

  You could say that there are two death sentences for the humans; crime and money. Both will get you killed, if becoming a Vampire can really be called death.

  Then there are the unlucky ones, those that run into a Royal like me. The only vampires with the authority to feed as we wish, we are definitely the most dangerous for the humans.

  Fortunately, we also tend to have better self-control than the younger ones. Although, we often choose not to use it.

  Farah is one of those unlucky ones. I will bring her death; it’s only a matter of time.

  Farah

  It’s dark when I leave work. I’m irritable as I pull my coat’s hood over my head. I’ve lost my favourite book and now have nothing to read on the bus home.

  Something across the road catches my eye and my heart begins to pound in my chest as I recognise the man there.

  He’s stood perfectly stock still and I think he’s watching me. My fist clenches around my handbag as I begin to feel uncomfortable when he doesn’t look away.

  I’d felt him watching me earlier within the café, but I’d ignored it, just like I always ignore the others. Being watched and flirted with isn’t new to me. The men that frequent the café do not seem to have the words ‘sexual harassment’ in their vocabulary.

  But I’d never felt scared or unsafe with them, not the way I do now.

  I consider hailing down a cab so that I can escape his attention but a quick glance up and down the street tells me that I’d have to call one and that would mean waiting here longer.

  My eyes returning to the man across the street, I see what he’s holding. I’m furious as I see my book in his hand.

  It’s reckless and probably the stupidest thing I’ve done in a long time. What’s more, I know it but that doesn’t stop me. I step out, onto the road and cross.

  I can feel my temper rising, my brows lowering. I’m glowering at him as I tell myself that I’m going to give him a proper rollicking.

  Except I don’t.

  Words escape me when I’m stood directly in front of him. Perhaps, it’s fear that stops me speaking. I’m tongue tied or something, completely incapacitated.

  I want to run. I need to get away from him, but my feet won’t move. I should be shouting at him and demanding that he return my book, but I can’t.

  My breath catches in my throat as he steps towards me. I’m not sure what I expect him to do. Attack me? What I don’t expect is for him to move so that he can shelter me underneath his umbrella.

  “Hello Farah.” The tenderness in his voice surprises me. His tone is so divergent from the way his presence makes me feel. His voice makes me want to trust him but everything else about him, terrifies me. He’s intimidating, scary even.

  He steps closer again and I feel an icy cold wash through me. I should run, run away from him as fast as I possibly can. But the glint in his eye, tells me that I won’t get away. He’ll catch me.

  I don’t know what he wants or what he plans to do to me, but I’m scared that whatever it is, I might just let him.

  Chapter Three

  Everette

  I smirk down at the angry woman stood before me. She’s clearly scared, I can smell the fear on her, but she’s not going to show it.

  Her eyes flitter between watching me and looking down at the book that I’m still holding. I could give it her back, but I won’t.

  I’m tempted to play the part of one of the Vampires in her book and win her heart before I take her life. It would be too easy to lure her with my inhuman charms, only to drink her dry.

  “I like your book,” I tell her, completely deadpan.

  She doesn’t know how to respond, that much is clear from the confusion in her eyes.

  “Er,” she begins but stops short.

  “It doesn’t seem particularly realistic though,” I continue.

  “Realistic? How could it be realistic? Vampires aren’t real.” She finally finds her voice.

  I don’t tell her that she’s wrong. What would be the point? She’d just think I’m crazy.

  Stepping towards her so that there’s barely any space between us, I lean forward to whisper in her ear, “the world is full of monsters.”

  So close to her neck, I can see her jugular artery pulsing. I can feel the warmth flowing off her skin, a mixture of heat and pheromones more intoxicating than I’ve found in a human in a long time. She smells amazing and I lick my lips, anticipating her taste.

  She jumps and I feel my mouth move into another smirk as I smell the fear pulsing through her veins. She doesn’t reply as she stumbles back, practically falling off the curb.

  I reach out, grabbing her by the arm and twirl us around so that she’s now safely planted on the pavement with me between her and the road. It wouldn’t do to have my next meal become roadkill.

  Her eyes are wide as she clutches to my arms, digging her nails into my shirt sleeves. Her touch is like fire and I don’t want to break the contact.

  It takes her a second or two to realise that she’s the one keeping us there and not me. For a moment, it looks like she’s about to tell me off for touching her, when she suddenly let’s go and once more steps back.

  The new distance between us is strangely disappointing.

  She’s going to ask for her book and then she’s going to leave. That’s not really a problem. I’d planned to follow her anyway, and yet right now that doesn’t seem like enough. I want to talk to her. I want to tease her, taunt her even before ripping her flesh apart with my fangs.

  One bite for the road, I think to myself, even though I know that one bite will never be enough. I’ll bite her and devour her. And then I’ll leave her here, dead on the street.

  That’s why I really can’t bite her now.

  I take a step towards Farah again, forcing her to step back. I don’t stop though until her back hits the brick wall behind us. Hands at her side, she clings to that wall, as if for dear life.

  She’s shaking slightly and I wonder if she knows just how dangerous I am.

  “Please,” she whispers and I don’t think she even knows what she’s asking me for. Her voice is a mixture of lust and fear, and it’s intoxicating.

  I take a final step and take one of her hands in my own, raising her wrist to my lips. I kiss her pulse point, relishing in the way I can feel the flow of blood beneath the surface of her skin.

  She whimpers, silently begging me for more, or perhaps begging me to let her live.

  It’s painful as I do my best to restrain myself. I mustn’t bite her, I tell myself on repeat but it doesn’t drown out the need to taste her. I allow one fang to scratch along the soft surface of her wrist, breaking the skin just enough to make her bleed. It’s only a drop, but my tongue laps at it eagerly as she leans into me, shivering.

  She’s still scared. She doesn’t understand. But it’s clear that she wants more too. I consider giving in. I could control her mind with compulsion, force her to get in my car, but I’m not sure she’d survive the journey.

  Her scent would most likely overwhelm me in the confined space.

 
Instead, I pull back. I drop to a crouch, quicker than I should if I don’t want to scare her, so that I can pick up her book from where it has fallen onto the ground.

  It’s slightly wet and so I give it a quick wipe with the hem of my sleeve. Then stand back up so that I can hand it to her. She accepts it with a shaky hand.

  “Go home, Farah,” I say, my voice coated in a compulsive magic that she won’t be able to refuse.

  She nods her head and then, as if on their own accord, her feet begin to move. I watch as she crosses the road and begins to walk down the street.

  I don’t like watching her leave, especially when I’ve not bitten her yet. Until I’ve made my mark, she’s fair game. Of course, there aren’t that many Royals in London. She’s unlikely to come across one and yet the idea makes me strangely uneasy, filling me with a jealous, possessiveness that I rarely ever feel for my prey.

  Farah

  I let myself into my home, unable to remember exactly how I got here. I remember crossing the street to reclaim my book and I remember him kissing my wrist.

  He’s pretty weird, old fashioned even.

  Now alone in the safety of my flat, I still can’t wrap my head around how he made me feel. He clearly terrified me, though I couldn’t place why. I just knew he was dangerous and yet, I’d felt something else too.

  Interest? Lust?

  Whatever it was, I tell myself that I shouldn’t let myself feel it again, as if I could control myself. Just the idea of his kiss to my wrist, makes my skin tingle. I’d have let him do so much more than kiss my wrist, if he’d wanted to.

  He probably could have asked for anything and I’d have done it, without hesitating. Flushed, I open my bedroom window slightly to let in some air. Glancing down at the street below, for a second I think I see someone across the road, but looking back there’s no one there.

  Laughing at myself, I step away from the window. I don’t know why I expected him to follow me home. I should feel relieved but instead, I feel slightly disappointed.