Vampires of the Caribbean

by Debra Dunbar

  “It’s just not possible.” He felt trapped in a nightmare, and almost at a loss as to how to explain this to a woman. “I came out here with the Reverend Birkett’s insane rantings in my ears. He believes you’re a vampire. That is ridiculous, of course, but, believe me, it would be as ridiculous to attempt to impose your laudable, lofty ideals on this imperfect world.”

  “We could do it, Charles, together we could achieve it. Together. As man and wife.”

  His head felt as if it was slowly being squeezed again. He wanted to believe her. To commit absolutely to her fantasy.

  No!

  He would not succumb to her witchcraft. She was still trying, but this time his anger was greater. Her path was folly, and would drag them all into hell.

  Lady Margaret whirled and held her arms up to the sky. “Free of the guild. Free of the stain of slavery. Free of the demands of British society. Equal under the sun.” She came to a stop facing him again. “And we would be together. Does that not tempt you?”

  Charles understood now. The Reverend Birkett was so right, and so wrong.

  Lady Margaret had come to destroy St. Mark’s, but rather than lead the slaves in open revolt, she was going to achieve the same end by abolishing slavery and declaring women equal to men.

  She was no vampire, but she was a witch.

  And if God moved in mysterious ways, then surely his former angels could do so, in creating hell on earth. The beguiling attractiveness of the idea hid the evil it would do—an evil that would rock the whole Empire and leave the Leeward Islands open to pirates and French opportunism.

  “It is madness,” he said. “You cannot make me believe your plans will work. You will achieve nothing but death and destruction.”

  “I will achieve it, with you or without,” she said, her voice tightening. “Stand with me or against me.”

  Her naivety would ruin him. It would ruin the whole of St. Mark’s. Yet she held the deeds and contracts that would allow her to do it. The fury erupted in his heart again.

  There is only one way out of this disaster, a small voice whispered in his mind.

  Gilbee could be given his part of the combined estate back. Some Nightwood slaves could be sold—the efficiency of his engine would make up the difference. The funds released would cover the promissory note.

  It needed only that Lady Margaret die and the control of the estates pass to him.

  He could escape the guild, take ownership of Nightwood and get his engine back.

  It was the only way the people of the islands could benefit from his Tynes Engine, and the greater good would justify the hard path he had to take.

  “Do not oppose me. Come to me, Charles. Come. Be one with me.” She opened her arms.

  Arms that he had so often dreamed would hold him in the night.

  Despite himself, he felt as if he were being dragged toward her.

  No! I will not succumb.

  The beauty of a woman is the siren lure of hell.

  There was no other way. He had to proceed, and he must act before he weakened.

  With one rapid movement, he turned and pushed Agnes.

  Balanced precariously on the parapet, she fell soundlessly to the garden thirty feet below. He hoped she was dead. He did not want to have to finish her off later.

  Then he turned to Lady Margaret, who stood frozen, mouth open.

  He reached into the satchel. The tools inside seemed to mold themselves into his hands. The rough wood of the stake. The cold weight of the hammer. Like a craftsman, he could feel their use, his muscles remembering driving stakes into the ground, his ears remembering the sound of hammers on wood. Better to think that than the use these tools were to be put to.

  He stepped toward her.

  To his surprise, she made no movement away.

  She spoke, and her voice was as cold and hard as steel.

  “You are a fool,” she said. “My hope in you was misplaced. Well, here is my last secret, Mr. Tynes. Birkett was right. There are vampires. One is here in this courtyard.”

  An absurd feeling of dread sank into him, raising the hairs on the back of his neck, making him shiver.

  Madness. She was as crazy as Birkett, or else trying to unnerve him.

  He had no time to be scared.

  Indeed, he had no time at all. A strong hand gripped his shoulder and spun him around. There was a blow, like a punch to his chest that made him sway. A deep coldness in his very heart. A weight dragging him down.

  He looked down with incomprehension at the sword that had been thrust through him as if he were made of straw.

  He was aware of being lifted, high over the moonlit parapet, as if he were as light as that straw, and the sensation of falling, falling into the darkness below.

  Chapter 14

  Enzili

  Agnes used water from the butts that the storm had filled to cleanse Tynes’ blood from her.

  I have anointed myself with the blood of my enemy, she thought. Very Enzili.

  Tynes was nothing to her. She had suspected he would be impossible to convert. He could barely comprehend that Margaret was his equal. Even if he’d accepted that, he’d never have been able to overcome his prejudice about her own skin color, and revealing that she was Athanate would have made it worse.

  But Tynes had not been nothing to Margaret. She’d really held a hope that he would be their partner.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, as she sat down beside Lady Margaret.

  They held hands in silence for a while.

  “We will still need a husband for you,” Agnes said.

  “I know. It would have been hard enough for Charles to get away with our plans. And with him gone, the suitors will be lining up.” Lady Margaret sighed. “Or worse, not lining up. What are we going to do with the body?”

  Agnes shrugged. “He fell accidentally, while examining the statue, and managed to kill himself with a sword so heavy that neither of us could possibly lift it. We’ll discover it at dawn. I’ll dispose of the other evidence.”

  “Birkett will not believe that.”

  “Neither will they believe him. Not immediately, at any rate. I suppose I will have to hold back from killing any more plantation managers. Hopefully, the size and speed of our crop will become the bigger talking point.”

  Lady Margaret snorted. “More likely it will fuel the rumors that we use witchcraft. A woman, managing an estate and doing it better than the men?”

  “Maybe. Of course, there’s always George,” Agnes said, only half teasing.

  Lady Margaret laughed, and then stopped. “How does he treat his slaves?”

  Agnes shrugged again. “Better than most. And his house maid is the only slave he—”

  “It’s not as if she can refuse!”

  “Peace, my love. I’m not saying he’s a saint, just that there are shades of evil. His maid is not unhappy.”

  Lady Margaret subsided.

  “Come,” Agnes said, standing and scooping Lady Margaret up easily. “Birkett and Gilbee and George are tomorrow’s problems.”

  “I’m not an invalid. I can manage the stairs on my own.”

  Margaret hadn’t been able to, on that first day. Agnes hadn’t bitten her since they had arrived, letting her recover. The voyage on HMS Crescent had been difficult. There was no place on board that she could have safely fed on anyone else without being discovered. They had been days away from one of them collapsing, Margaret from loss of blood, her from need of it.

  Despite her complaints, Margaret didn’t struggle. Instead, she smiled and tilted her head back, quite deliberately. The pulse that beat in her neck was like a soft drum calling in the night. Agnes’ fangs manifested and started to throb in time.

  Yes, there were problems tomorrow, and the loss of Charles was a blow, but tonight they would concentrate on each other.

  And...Agnes was starting to actually believe in Margaret’s plan.

  They would very quietly, very slowly take over St. Mark’s, change th
e fields, concentrating on crops to make the island self-sufficient, free the slaves, elect their own administration.

  When Abolition devastated the rest of the Caribbean by destroying the financial underpinning of the sugar trade, they would already have moved past that.

  It would be a long climb.

  To this generation of slaves, even after they had been freed, she would remain Enzili, but their children would be educated and their grandchildren would rule the island.

  And there would be one small place on Earth where Athanate and humans lived in contentment and peace with each other.

  About the Author

  Mark was born in Africa and left out in the sun too often.

  An early interest in philosophy and psychology was adequately exorcised by tending bars. And while trying to enroll in a class to read Science Fiction full time, he ended up taking an engineering degree which splendidly qualified him to move into marketing. That in turn spawned a late onset career in creative writing.

  When not working, Mark gets high by the slightly less conventional means of a small microlight aircraft, or down and dirty on a mountain bike.

  'Bite Back' series

  Raw Deal (prequel)

  Sleight of Hand

  Hidden Trump

  Wild Card

  Cool Hand

  Angel Stakes

  'Bite Back: Outsiders' series

  The Biting Cold

  Winter's Kiss

  TheBiteBackSeries

  henwick.wordpress.com/

  Consume

  Hellish, #1

  by Charity Parkerson

  Introduction

  Jonathan thinks Cin is too perfect to be real. He’s right.

  As the top investigative reporter for Global Daily, Jonathan travels all over the world. Three weeks in Tortola, covering the story of the disappearance of twelve women, sounds like heaven. After all, the island is one of the most beautiful in the world. He doesn’t have many leads. The women only have one thing in common. They all went missing from the same club—Consume. Fifteen minutes into visiting the club, Jonathan sees him, and the world slips away.

  Cinaed, better known as Cin, spots Jonathan the moment he walks through the club’s door. It’s obvious the man is out of place. Cin slips into Jonathan’s mind, catching visions he can’t shake. He’s never wanted a human for anything other than blood and sex, but Jonathan is different. That’s why Cin has to keep the man addicted to being in his bed and send him home safely. There’s nothing in Tortola for Jonathan except death.

  Once Jonathan’s three weeks are at an end, it doesn’t take long for him to realize something is wrong. His trip has been—at best—a hazy memory of steamy nights, and he never spent a moment researching his story. No matter how deep he digs into the recesses of his brain, there’s nothing except the sexy Scot he met at Consume. With a burning need to know everything, and a deep fear he’s been drugged to keep him from his investigation, Jonathan cashes in his extensive vacation time before setting out to break this story. This time, he’s determined he won’t let anything keep him from the truth, even if it means finding out Cin is the man behind everything.

  Author note: This is a short introduction into my new M/M vampire series, Hellish. It was first published in the anthology Vampires of the Caribbean.

  Chapter 1

  They met in the most cliché of ways—in a bar. In a club named Consume, no less. Jonathan hated to say their eyes had met across a crowded room. Mostly because the lights were cast low and dozens of gyrating bodies separated them, but their eyes had met across a crowded room. As he’d scanned the crowd, hoping he didn’t look as bored as he was, a glimmer of something had snagged his attention. It was the man’s eyes. They seemed almost iridescent, reminding him of a wolf. The moment passed as quickly as it happened, making Jonathan wonder if he’d seen anything at all. Still, his gaze lingered for longer than he intended. As if the first time he saw him wasn’t like the beginning of a thousand stories, the dude was also tall, dark, and handsome. At the thought, Jonathan turned away. Thirty-two was too old to be so ridiculous.

  This trip also wasn’t about meeting anyone. Three weeks in Tortola sounded like a dream vacation. For some, it was. For the families of twelve different college-age girls who’d mysteriously disappeared in the last two years, it was a nightmare. That was why Jonathan was there. As an investigative reporter for Global Daily, he’d broken more major stories than anyone. Without that stat on his side, Jonathan wouldn’t be there, because he had nothing to go on but a location. All twelve women except for one had gone missing from this club. He didn’t need this story to make his career, but Jonathan wanted it.

  Against his will, Jonathan’s gaze slid back to where the sexy man had been standing moments earlier. He was gone. Jonathan swallowed the bitter taste of disappointment filling his mouth. Yeah, he didn’t need this story, but he craved the success so he could rub it in his boss’s face. A boss who also happened to be Jonathan’s ex. The sour flavor of life still coated his tongue. He waved for another shot. The tequila appeared and disappeared in a span of thirty seconds.

  As he set the empty shot glass on the bar, a large body collided with his. Before Jonathan had time to turn, warm breath caressed the shell of his ear.

  “Dance with me.”

  He knew. Before turning his head and meeting the sexiest light blue eyes he’d ever seen in his life, Jonathan knew it was his stranger from across the room. The gaze that held his was steady. The man’s lips were perfect. Hell, even the dude’s eyebrows were flawless. In all his days, Jonathan had never seen anyone as goddamn out-of-this-world as the man awaiting Jonathan’s answer.

  He took note of the hardcore grunge music blaring through the speakers. “To this?” The instant the words left his lips, the music slowed and the lighting dimmed.

  The stranger’s lips twisted into a smirk. Jonathan’s mouth went dry. The man’s fingers linked with Jonathan’s. He tugged. “Aye. To this.”

  Jonathan’s knees stiffened, keeping him upright at the sound of the man’s sexy as sin Scottish accent. Without his permission, Jonathan’s feet moved. He allowed the man to lead him onto the dance floor. Their gazes never wavered from each other, as the dude walked backward through the gyrating bodies. The crowd parted, making room for them on the floor. When the man’s arms finally surrounded Jonathan, he was forced to draw a deep breath slowly though his nose to keep from passing out. It was a mistake. The dude smelled like some delicious spice Jonathan had never tried, but he wanted to. God only knew how badly he wanted to open his mouth over the cords of the man’s neck and taste him. Jonathan shook his head, trying to dispel the odd thought.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Cinaed.”

  Jesus. Even his name was hot. It sounded a bit like Kenny, but with a Scottish lilt that Jonathan wanted to taste on his tongue. “Jonathan,” Jonathan said, hoping that by talking he would stop himself from doing something stupid—like capturing a complete stranger’s mouth just to feel the man’s accent vibrating on his tongue.

  Cinaed’s hand slid down Jonathan’s back, finding the curve of Jonathan’s ass. “What brings a man like you to a place like this, Jonathan?”

  This. Jonathan bit back the answer. Instead, he picked apart Cinaed’s question, as he did everyone’s words when they spoke. “What do you mean ‘a man like me’?”

  The pressure of Cinaed’s hand increased on Jonathan’s ass as the man drew him closer. “Look around, Jonathan. Do you see anyone else like us here?”

  Damn, the way the man kept saying Jonathan’s name had him ready to do some naughty shit—like forget why he was there in the first place. He didn’t bother looking as Cinaed demanded. Jonathan already knew they were the only two men dancing together. This wasn’t their type of club.

  “I could ask you the same.”

  A low chuckle caressed Jonathan’s ear. His dick went hard. “I work here. Your turn.”

  Jonathan’s fingers found
the soft hairs at Cinaed’s nape. His mind went blank. “It’s the closest bar to my hotel,” Jonathan said, dodging.

  “Lucky me.” The words brushed Jonathan’s neck a split second before Cinaed’s lips touched the same spot. Chill bumps rose on his skin. He swore the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention beneath the man’s touch. They didn’t know each other. Jonathan didn’t care. He didn’t want Cinaed to stop. A haze overtook his mind, making everything seem surreal. Cinaed’s thumb brushed the small of his back—skin on skin. Jonathan’s breath caught at the back of his throat at the contact. Music blared around them, but Cinaed turned his head, as if he heard the small gasp for air. Jonathan turned too, because he couldn’t stop himself from doing so. Their gazes met. “No one is watching.”

  Jonathan didn’t care if they were. He couldn’t breathe. The iridescent glow he’d seen earlier was back. It was a trick of the light, but Jonathan couldn’t focus on anything other than Cinaed’s eyes. They were so goddamn beautiful. He felt like he was falling into them. Even as the slow song ended and a faster beat began, their bodies didn’t separate. They kept time with the music. Jonathan’s heart raced. The man smelled like heaven. It was sweet yet woodsy—like walking through a forest filled with honeysuckle. His body was hard all over. Seriously. Cinaed might have been skinny, but Jonathan could feel every cut muscle. As his fingers traced their lines, Jonathan realized he’d been running his hands over the man’s body, shamelessly enjoying his sexy frame.

  “I’m about to kiss you.”

  It was so loud, Jonathan shouldn’t have heard him, but he did—like Cinaed was inside his head. His mouth watered in anticipation. Cinaed didn’t move. Jonathan couldn’t take the suspense. Instead of giving the man a chance to change his mind or get away, Jonathan kissed him. Holy shit. The man’s mouth was ambrosia. Cinaed held him. Their bodies still tried to keep time with the music as their tongues clashed. Cinaed’s kiss was soft yet deep. He made Jonathan crave feeling that sweet suction around his cock. The man was everywhere. His hands massaged Jonathan’s ass, moving against him. Cinaed’s erection dug into Jonathan’s hip. In all his life, Jonathan had never instantly wanted anyone like he craved the man holding him. It was insanity. He was trapped in the moment with no desire for escape.