INSTINCT (The Elite Book 1)

by Hanleigh Bradley

  I want to eat her not fuck her.

  “You haven’t told me your name,” she says so quietly a human wouldn’t hear her.

  “Everette,” I tell her, my voice coming out rougher and less controlled than I’d like.

  “Thank you for the lift, Everette.”

  Her hand reaches for the door handle and I count to five in an attempt to stop myself from preventing her from leaving.

  I watch her walk up the steps to her building before resting my head against the headrest.

  Driving away a moment later is surprisingly difficult. Everything inside me feels compelled to stay by her side. I can’t tell what it is that’s drawing me to her though. Her blood? Lust? Or something else entirely?

  For the first time since the first time I saw Farah, I decide to spend the night at home, sleeping in my own bed, for the few hours of sleep that my immortal body actually needs.

  ***

  Leaving the city and Farah behind, my mind begins to clear. I speed through the country roads and arrive home much quicker than any human could.

  The driveway is dark and the lights are all off when I arrive home. The large, sinister house looks like something out of a gothic novel. Farah would probably love it, thinking it the perfect setting for her favourite book.

  I park up on the gravel drive and stride towards the door. It opens before I reach it and my housekeeper greets me.

  “Sir,” she says, “welcome home.”

  She’s human. Her family have been in my servitude for over six generations. If I wanted to, she’d like me bleed her dry. And I’ve never been more tempted than I am now. I’m so focused on my craving for Farah that I could lose myself to my appetite far too easily.

  Instead, I remove my coat and hand it to her with a single nod of thanks, before crossing the hall and entering my study and closing the door behind me.

  Once more alone, I crumple into the chair behind my desk and close my eyes.

  Sybil, my housekeeper, knocks a moment or so later.

  “Enter,” I say gruffly.

  “You looked like you needed a drink, sir,” the middle-aged woman says as she walks towards me, carrying a tray with a single glass of red liquid.

  Sybil is about as unphased by my lack of humanity as it is possible for anyone to be. She lowers the glass to my desk with a steady hand before bowing her head and turning back towards the door, not waiting to be thanked.

  I down the warm blood in one go, easing my parched throat. My thirst somewhat quenched, I allow my mind to wander back to Farah.

  My eyes closed, my head resting on the back of the chair, I reach down and unbutton my trousers. Pulling out my dick, I begin to work my hand up and down the shaft, imagining Farah’s hand is the one touching me.

  I picture her there between my legs on her knees, begging for me to fuck her mouth. The image is enticing and I feel a moan rise up in my throat. I try to keep it in. I try to control myself as my hand’s movement becomes frenzied.

  Imagining her mouth around my cock, I pump my fist around it one last time before coming harder than I have in a decade or perhaps more. Head lulling back, I frown.

  “Don’t play with your food, Everette.”

  Chapter Eight

  Farah

  After that first meeting and the bizarre forty-eight hours that followed it, my life seemingly returns to normal. I go to work each morning before returning home much later. The days are tedious and mundane.

  Frequently, I catch myself looking for him, my eyes straying to the table where he’d sat watching me or the bus stop where he’d waited for me. I scan the cars that pass me on the street as I walk home each night, wondering if there’s only tinted glass and a bit of tarmac between us.

  But I never see him.

  I can’t tell if it’s disappointment I feel, or if it’s relief. I think it ought to be the latter. Although I fear it’s the former. He didn’t even tell me his name and strangely the fact that he’s still a nameless stranger bothers me. It shouldn’t. Not when everything within me told me he was dangerous, even when I had first met his eye across the café. I’d feared him in a way I’d never felt before. Even now, days later, I can still feel the adrenaline pulsing through my veins, as if at any moment I will need to run.

  The way he’d looked at me had been predatory.

  I can still feel that stare, as if he’s still watching me now. The street lights above my head are bright and yet I feel like I’m walking down a darkened alley. The sound of my own footsteps is almost deafening against the silence around me. There are barely any cars, no people walking. The city is almost dead.

  I try to distract myself from the growing unease in my stomach by pulling out my phone and a pair of headphones. It’s hopeless but I have to at least try to drown out the silence with some music.

  Humming along to the music, I continue up the road, not really sure why I’m so nervous. I feel on edge, scared even, my pulse racing and my eyes straining as I search the shadows for something, though I know not what.

  I hear a noise behind me over the sound of my music and turn abruptly, yanking the headphones from my ears.

  The road is clear and my sense of unease grows as I feel my heart pound against my ribcage. I’ve never been one to get scared, often putting myself in danger’s path rather than more wisely avoiding it. My parents always told me I was reckless. They’d said it with the tone of an endearment, never once chastising me for it.

  My parents were too gentle, too kind. They’d never even raised their voices at me growing up. But someone used that goodness against them, killing them for their generosity.

  They’d met a young woman at the airport. She’d been covered in bruises, some a fresh blue while others were yellowy green. They’d offered to escort the woman to the police station, they’d wanted to help her, but she’d told them she was too scared. So they had taken her home, let her live in their house, feeding and clothing her. They did it all for her and then one night, while they were sleeping, she let her ex-boyfriend, the one who’d given her those bruises, into the house.

  He beat her senseless, almost to the point of death, but that was nothing compared to what he did to my parents. He stabbed them in their sleep, leaving them to bleed to death.

  I still can’t believe that this is the world we live in, a world where the best of humanity can get their killed.

  The generosity they showed that girl left their only daughter alone in this cruel world.

  Pulling my coat around myself, I turn back in the direction of my apartment. Putting one step in front of the other, I tell myself to ignore the fear that is making me feel queasy.

  I just need to get home; I’ll be safe there.

  Everette

  Avoiding Farah is exhausting. It doesn’t help that I’m not completely sure why I’m bothering to avoid her at all. I should just drink her dry and be done with it.

  And yet that’s not what I want.

  I shouldn’t be thinking about her at all. I should have bitten Farah the first time I saw her, draining her blood dry and been done with it.

  Then I wouldn’t be so conflicted now.

  Staying away from Farah is harder than I had expected it would be. It’s been almost a week since I last saw her and I’ve barely stopped thinking about her for more than few seconds at a time.

  They say that human men think about sex every seven seconds. Well, I think about Farah far more than that.

  I’m fucking obsessed.

  And it’s not just the idea of drinking her blood. It’s everything. It’s the look on her face when I’m close to her, the sound of her voice when I scare her, the way she looks for me almost instinctually… It’s everything.

  And that bothers me.

  Because I shouldn’t be thinking about anything other than how good it will feel to have her warm blood trickling down my throat and into my parched body.

  Sighing, I tell myself I have no choice but to go to her. I need to take her life so that s
he’ll stop haunting me.

  With that thought in mind, I climb into my car and drive towards the café where she works.

  Chapter Nine

  Farah

  My pace quickens when I hear footsteps behind me. A silly little voice in my mind tells me it is probably HIM and that I don’t have to be afraid. Except even if it is him following me, I don’t know him well enough to believe that I’m safe.

  More than that, I’m almost certain that he is anything but safe. He’s the epitome of danger.

  And there’s still the chance that it’s not him.

  I’ve not seen him in days and there’s no reason to believe he would randomly show up now.

  Looking through the glass of one of the shops I pass, I search for a person in the reflection, I search for him. But he’s not there. Instead, there’s another man. He’s younger, bulkier and his face is set in a disapproving frown.

  His hands in his pockets, he looks almost bored.

  I try to ignore my unease and continue in the direction of my apartment, keeping my attention on the road in front of me. I take the long route, choosing not to walk down the alley way that would get me home almost ten minutes quicker, opting instead for the well lit high street. All the while, telling myself that the man is not following me. My fingers clutch around my phone in my pocket, shaking slightly.

  When he’s still walking behind me some five minutes later, my heart begins to pound haphazardly in my chest as I feel panic rise up within me.

  The pathing stones are uneven and I stumble.

  But I don’t fall. There’s a hand holding me up, strong and firm and terrifying. I try to pull back but his grip doesn’t loosen.

  I gulp in as much air as possible, preparing to scream.

  Everette

  Anger boils away in my stomach as I make my way towards her, completely ignoring the Vampire now hunting my prey. Spotting me, he groans, knowing that any claim he might try to make will be denied.

  I might not know him but he certainly knows me.

  He begins to slink away back into the more crowded streets, presumably seeking out a replacement meal.

  Farah trips and I reach out to stop her falling. It’s instinctual. Almost as natural as biting her. Not that that makes sense at all.

  She tries to pull away, without even raising her eyes to look at me.

  “What are you doing, Farah?” I ask, my voice entertained, a perfect mask for the fury that is still raging within me.

  Her eyes dart to mine and I can’t tell if she’s relieved that it’s me that is holding her or terrified. I hope it’s the latter.

  She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t look like she knows how to and her expression is endearing. Not that I’d tell her that.

  All the fight seems to fall away from her body and she slumps against me. The sudden warmth surprises me and I enjoy it more than I should.

  I stand still, Farah’s limp body in my arms, staring down at her. My eyes rove over her face before settling on her neck. I struggle to ignore the internal demand to bite her now. A jealous passiveness boiling in my veins.

  But I want her awake.

  I want to see her squirm, enjoying the sensation of the blood leaving her veins until it’s suddenly too late, only then will she try to fight, only when she feels her life coming to its close.

  It’s an evolutionary advantage that a Vampire’s prey cannot resist. With the very first burst of pain, there is a release of endorphins, easing the pain and giving the prey a building sense of euphoria.

  With Farah in my arms, my eyes trained on the blood pulsing in the vein just below her skin’s surface, it’s impossible not to imagine the way she’d react to the ecstasy my bite would give her. How she would cling to me wantonly.

  I wouldn’t stop. I wouldn’t be able to, even if I wanted to.

  And then one by one, her veins would begin to collapse and the natural drugs that my bite would give her would no longer be able to function.

  Then and only then would she realise that something is wrong. She would start thrashing, scratching and fighting, trying to escape, but it would all be pointless.

  It wouldn’t last long. As quickly as her fighting would start, it would end. And I’d be left with a corpse, not unlike the limp body in my arms right now.

  That idea leaves me feeling surprisingly irked.

  Pulling Farah’s body closer to my chest, I consider my options. The only thing I know for sure is that I will not wait any longer. It’s not because her blood is too tempting but rather that I won’t let anyone else anywhere near her.

  She’s mine.

  Chapter Ten

  Everette

  Lowering a sleeping Farah onto a couch, I step back and perch on the edge of the coffee table next to her. I shouldn’t have brought her here. It might not have been my wisest decision but I can’t bring myself to regret it.

  I want her here.

  I lose track of time as I wait for her to wake up. Wrapped in a blanket, she curls up into the foetal position. I watch her closely, taking in every single minute change in expression.

  My eyes notice more than any human’s would but still I feel wary that I might miss something. I see Farah’s breathing shallow and her eyes flicker beneath her lids as she dreams.

  Human eyes would never catch that, I smirk to myself.

  I notice the slight pink tinge of her cheeks and the darkness of her lashes.

  Rubbing the back of my neck with my hand, I close my eyes for a moment, trying to collect my thoughts. I breathe in deeply even though I don’t need the oxygen rich air that fills my lungs, before standing to my feet.

  Crossing the room, I make my way towards the desk that sits directly in front of the large bay window. I take a seat behind the desk and power on my laptop, forcing myself not to look back at the sleeping girl on the couch.

  Farah

  I wake with a start, sitting up abruptly. It’s dark and I can hear the gentle sound of fingers clicking on a keyboard. Looking around, I search for the source of the sound, my eyes finally settling on Everette – I think it’s him – barely visible in the glow of a computer screen.

  “Everette?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

  He looks up, his eyes expressing his surprise at finding me awake. I stay still, suddenly nervous, as he approaches me. I don’t know what I expect to happen that my heart is racing so fast.

  He sits on the edge of the coffee table opposite me and leans forward, so close that I can smell his own personal scent in the air between us, an earthy mixture of sandalwood and coffee.

  I smile at him, not that I know why, waiting impatiently for him to do something. I want him to touch me or kiss me or something. Anything at all.

  But he doesn’t move. Instead he just sits there, his legs spread apart, his elbows on his knees and his chin resting in one open palm.

  I watch him eagerly, anticipating his next move, fearful that it may never come.

  “You should have slept longer,” he tells me, his voice carrying a lilt that I hadn’t expected. The softness of his tone and the almost boyish grin on his face confuses me.

  Then he’s leaning forward, far slower than I’d like, until his lips are only centimetres away from mine. I feel compelled to close the small space, lifting my lips to meet his.

  The second our lips touch, I feel electric tingles move through my lips and across my skin. I can’t stay still. I need to touch him.

  I practically lunge myself into his lap, deepening the kiss, my tongue darting into his mouth.

  He chuckles lightly as he brings his hands to my shoulders, pulling me back slightly.

  “Not yet, Farah,” he tells me firmly, pushing me back towards the couch.

  “But…” I begin to grumble but he just shakes his head as he tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear.

  Everette

  I don’t know why I’m pushing her away when I finally have her exactly where I want her. She’s far past the point of no return. There
’s no escaping now that I’ve brought her to my house.

  And yet, I feel like I have to give her a choice.

  Why I don’t know. She’s my prey and as prey, her opinion is pretty much null and void.

  I’m not going to let her go. I will bite her. There’s no escaping that now. But I’ll let her pick between a quick and slow death.

  I want to keep her alive as long as possible so that I can truly relish in the taste of her blood, but more than that I want to explore the other feelings that are bothering me. I want to understand why I feel so insistent that she shouldn’t die, why the idea of her cold corpse in my arms is so heart wrenching.

  I consider explaining it all to her, but I’m sure that will just scare her and waste precious time.

  “What would you say if I told you the monsters in your book are real?” I ask her gently.

  She meets my eye with more confidence than she should in this situation. Licking her lower lip, she inches towards me, moving into my personal space. There’s a heat in her eyes that suggests she’s not actually listening to me, too focused on her own lust. Although there is also something there that makes me question if she knows what I desire too.

  I wait for her to answer but she never does and quickly I grow impatient.

  “Farah, are you listening?” I ask her almost irritably.

  The adorable smile that curls her lips in the next second cools my temper almost instantly. In one fluid motion, I lift her into the air, and move so that I am now sat where seconds ago she was sitting, and then lower her back onto my lap, her legs on either side of me.

  Her work skirt rides up her thighs ever so slightly and I have to pause for a second, trying to ignore the way my body responds to having her so close, my trousers growing uncomfortable.

  If the sudden change in position surprises her, she never lets on, as her gaze meets mine once more, her eyes moving quickly from my eyes to my lips and back again.

  She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t need to. I know what she wants, what she needs. And I don’t have the energy to resist her anymore.