Vampires of the Caribbean

by Debra Dunbar

  “Aye,” Niall said, holding his gaze. “You wanted to know why I thought you should leave us behind, but you were scared to ask.”

  “I don’t know if scared is the right term.”

  Niall blew out a breath and shook his head at Jonathan’s rambling. “I thought you were going to listen.”

  Jonathan motioned for him to continue. “Sorry. Go on.”

  “For whatever reason, you didn’t want to ask,” Niall said, conceding to Jonathan’s interruption. “When you open your eyes, you may not see me for a little while, so I wanted to answer your questions before I go.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Away,” Niall answered, obviously not intending to expound. “Don’t worry. We have forever and some years will go by in the blink of an eye while others will drag on for what feels like an eternity.”

  So they’d turned him after all. He wanted to ask, but Niall didn’t give him a chance.

  “I didn’t want this for you. It’s not personal. I wouldn’t want this for anyone. Our clan is small, and now you’re completely dependent upon us for survival for the rest of your days. We were born this way. You were not. Most of the skills we possess won’t pass to you, and drinking human blood will not sustain you. You’ll need to drink from one of us to live. That’s what I didn’t say to you before we were interrupted.”

  “Are you saying you don’t want me sucking on your neck the way I let you suck on mine?” Jonathan asked, trying to ease the heaviness coating the air.

  Something dark—like deep hunger—passed over Niall’s features. “Anytime you need me, you may call to me and I will come to you.”

  For some reason, one Jonathan couldn’t explain, that sounded oddly ominous.

  “There are a million tiny details about this life you need to understand. You’ll have to learn a whole new way of living. Cin will be with you every step of the way.”

  “Why isn’t he here now?”

  “Who says he isn’t?” Niall shot back just as quickly, causing Jonathan to have more questions than before.

  “Why are you here now?”

  Niall moved closer, crowding Jonathan’s space. Jonathan let it happen. The man’s golden gaze flared to life, glowing bright, as if attempting to dig for info Jonathan didn’t want to give. “I told you—I have to go away, and you had another question I didn’t get to answer.”

  “What?” Jonathan had no idea why he was whispering, but there it was.

  “You wondered if I would do this,” Niall said, swooping in and covering Jonathan’s mouth with his. The giant vamp’s kiss was a hell of a lot sweeter than Jonathan ever would’ve imagined. He gently cupped Jonathan’s face between his hands, as if savoring the moment. In the back of his mind, Jonathan knew he should shove Niall away. This wasn’t fair to Cin. He didn’t want anyone other than Cin. Did he? Fuck it. As Niall had said earlier, this was just a dream. Soon he’d open his eyes and realize none of this had been real, or the angel of death would appear, escorting Jonathan to his final resting place. Either way, this moment didn’t count. Jonathan kissed Niall back. It wasn’t like when he kissed Cin or even when Niall had taken his blood. Their tongues met and stroked. There was a definite lover-like feel to their touch, but it wasn’t the sort of passion that burned a person to the ground. This was something else.

  Niall was the first to pull away. With his eyes closed, Jonathan held on to the man’s shirt, keeping him in place. Not that Niall seemed in any hurry to escape. He kept his forehead pressed to Jonathan’s and his breaths came in loud gasps. Jonathan could feel the man’s large frame expanding with every deep lungful of air. Every sensation seemed heightened—twice as much as anything he’d ever experienced before.

  “Eternity is a damn long time, Jonathan,” Niall said softly. “Even if you spend it hating me, I swear I’ll come to you when you call.” The same as he appeared, Niall disappeared—like smoke seeping away. Jonathan stared at the empty space where he’d been only moments earlier. He didn’t have time to puzzle out the experience.

  The sensation of light kisses touched his stomach. Jonathan glanced down at this body. His shirt was gone. Hadn’t a gray t-shirt been covering him the last he looked? The pressure of lips skimming his stomach happened again. Jonathan automatically lifted his hand, searching for the source. It landed on something solid. Soft locks of hair slipped across his palm. Jonathan blinked. Light blinded him. He slammed his eyes closed against the assault. The kisses moved up his body. The sensation of floating overcame him.

  Jonathan’s eyes fluttered open once more. This time, he prepared himself. It wasn’t as bright this time. In fact, there was barely any light at all. He was in Cin’s bed. Jonathan slipped his fingers through the man’s hair once more.

  “Cin?” He instantly regretted his attempt as speaking. It felt like he’d swallowed razor blades and sounded like it too.

  “Aye, baby. You’re finally awake.”

  “Hurt,” he croaked out, hoping Cin wouldn’t expect more.

  “Don’t try talking. You’re still healing.”

  But I have questions. Jonathan couldn’t contain his internal pout. He’d expected things to be different. No pain, for one damn thing.

  And I have answers, but there’s plenty of time.

  Jonathan nearly levitated in his happiness. Oh my God. I heard you. In my head, and you heard me. Holy shit. We spoke.

  A low chuckle caressed Jonathan’s chest as Cin kissed a path up his body. “Trust me, baby. The novelty will wear off soon.”

  I saw Niall. In my dreams. Does that mean it was real?

  While straddling Jonathan’s hips, Cin sat back on his heels and stared down at him. Something dark passed over his features. “Aye, most likely.”

  He said he was leaving.

  “Aye.” Cin looked sad.

  Jonathan’s chest hurt—like he was missing a part of himself. He couldn’t make it stop. He blinked against the sudden onslaught of pain.

  Cin slid down, wrapping Jonathan in his hold, as if trying to hold him together for a mental break he knew would soon come. “I’m so so verra sorry,” Cin whispered. His brogue thickened. “Something went wrong when I tried saving you. My blood wouldn’t heal you. Niall had to be the one. Your bond to him will be stronger than what you feel for me.”

  The pressure in Jonathan’s chest increased by the second—like he could sense Niall moving farther away. Nothing could ever be stronger than what I feel for you. Jonathan ran his fingers through Cin’s hair, trying to ease the man he loved even as his heart slowly crushed from an invisible weight.

  “It’s okay. I’d rather have some of you than none.”

  “Kiss me,” Jonathan croaked out, because he couldn’t take the pain in Cin’s voice any longer. He fucking hated that the man he loved more than he had his life was apologizing for doing what had to be done to save him.

  Cin shifted positions until no more than an inch separated their faces. “Eternity is a damn long time.”

  That’s the same thing Niall said. Please kiss me.

  “He wasn’t exaggerating. I’ve been alive going on seven hundred years and it took me this long to find you. I love you.”

  A smile pulled at Jonathan’s lips. Some of the tension in his chest eased. “I love you too,” Jonathan mouthed because it hurt too much to say it. Instead of asking again, Jonathan pulled Cin’s head down and captured the man’s lips. The instant their tongues met, a crack formed in his mind, splitting Jonathan in two. He loved this man so goddamn much, yet a roar of denial still sounded in his ears, so loud it almost seemed real. Jonathan wasn’t the furious one. It was Niall.

  The End.

  Keep an eye for the next book in the Hellish series. You can find updates on my website www.charityparkerson.com/hellish or you can sign up for my newsletter http://bit.ly/CharityNews.

  About the Author

  Charity Parkerson is an award winning and multi-published author with several companies. Born with no filter from her b
rain to her mouth, she decided to take this odd quirk and insert it in her characters.

  *2015 Readers' Favorite Award Winner

  *Winner of 2, 2014 Readers' Favorite Awards

  *2015 Passionate Plume Award Finalist

  *2013 Readers' Favorite Award Winner

  *2013 Reviewers' Choice Award Winner

  *2012 ARRA Finalist for Favorite Paranormal Romance

  *Five-time winner of The Mistress of the Darkpath

  Connect with her online:

  @CharityParkerso

  TheMenofSin

  charityparkerson.com

  Dawn’s Justice

  by Phaedra Weldon

  Chapter 1

  "This is a lie!"

  Solange stepped further back into the shadows of her Mistress's parlor. Nearly five years as Catherine Guillot's servant gave her insight into her Mistress's moods, as well as the tone of her voice. Solange learned early on that one never questioned the Mistress's requirements and never, ever, told her something she didn't want to hear. Not unless it was couched in something more appealing.

  The man standing before her, a messenger with a stained coat, muddied leather shoes and bruises upon his face, did not know the Mistress's habits and winced at the volume she used. "M'Lady—"

  But Catherine, still dressed in the day's finery of pink silk and ruffles of taffeta, waved the slip of paper about in the air. "Lies! My brother is dead!" Her blond curls jostled against her bare shoulders.

  Solange held in a gasp. She hadn't known what news the messenger brought until that moment when Catherine revealed the writing on the missive. Robert was alive? Was it…was it really possible? Three years ago her lover, Catherine's younger brother, sailed to Havana with his and Catherine's father on behalf of the East India Trading Company. Three years ago their ship was reportedly taken by pirates and the bodies of Frances and Robert Guillot were never found. No proper burials.

  The courts continued stalling on Catherine's claim to the family estate. Though the Havana authorities insisted there were were only 3 survivors and none were the Guillots, no one could find their remains. Without the body, the local magistrate was at a loss as to how to proceed with the Guillot family estate in New Orleans. The family home, plus its coffers, were worth thousands of pounds. All bequeathed to the heir of the Guillot family.

  Robert. Not Catherine.

  Catherine had fumed and ranted at her curse at being a woman, powerless to take control of their father's merchant business, having to relinquish the estate and funds to her Uncle George, Francis's brother. A lawyer by profession, he intended to uphold the letter of the law—as he interpreted it. Until the claim of their deaths could be substantiated, Uncle George continued running things as his brother would have.

  Catherine couldn't complain about the steady income or enjoying the finer things in life. But Solange knew how much Miss Catherine loved control. She had controlled their father, and she had controlled Robert. In fact, Catherine's repeated meddling in everyone's lives had become a joke around the Guillot estate. Catherine and her micro-managing—"Better protect those peas if they don't produce exactly three peas in each pod!" the head cook had said at her Mistress's expense, and cackled with amusement.

  Just yesterday the court had decided to set a date on the Guillots. If neither showed themselves by the end of the month, they would rule in George's and Catherine's favor. All would be theirs.

  So—hearing that her brother could still live wasn't sitting well at all.

  Robert could very well choose to remove his uncle and his sister from their home and make Catherine a pauper. And he could finally fulfill the promise he'd made to Solange the night before he left for Havana. He promised to move to Port Royal and bring her to him where they could be together in the Caribbean.

  Solange's own heritage was a mixed bag, and afforded her a lighter skin than most. Creole was the word used in polite company. She was aware of her exotic looks, her blue eyes and straighter hair. It won her no favors from the other servants, and made her the object of many a white man's stare. Only Robert had ever treated her like a lady. Never forcing her, always encouraging her to be herself.

  It had been lonely these past three years. So very lonely without him. She felt as if she'd lost her way.

  Until now.

  She didn't dare interject into the argument, but listened even more intently than before.

  The door to the parlor abruptly opened and Uncle George entered the room. "Catherine, you can be heard throughout the house—"

  "How dare you just barge in here, uncle!" She waved the paper at him to. "This is a private meeting."

  "But not a private room," George said as he approached.

  The messenger turned and bowed to the House Lord. "Begg'n ya pardon, sir."

  "No need." He held out his hand to Catherine. "The message, Catherine."

  She hesitated for a few seconds and Solange wondered if she would refuse. Finally Catherine slammed the note on the desk, jostling the oil in the nearby lamp. She snatched up her fan, snapped it open, and fanned herself.

  The messenger grabbed the note and offered it to George.

  "Thank you," George said as he read it. His reaction was just as dramatic, but not as loud. "Lord in Heaven…is this true?" he stared at the messenger.

  "I only deliver messages sir. It was given to me by a man at the docks. Said it was important the Lady Guillot received it."

  "If this is true…" he looked at Catherine, then back to the messenger. "Did he give you a name?"

  "Messersmith," the messenger said and dipped his head. "He said to come to Havana to see for yourself."

  George leaned his head forward. "Nothing more?"

  "No sir."

  George fished into his pocket and handed the man a coin. "Go back to the dock and tell this Messersmith I will indeed look into this. Only return here if you do not find him."

  The messenger nodded, bowed and then fled the room.

  Solange went to the side table and poured a glass of water and quietly set it in front of Uncle George.

  "Thank you, Solange." He said it absently, but Solange always appreciated the man's politeness. He held the letter in his hand and picked up the water to sip it. "Catherine, I would say your exuberant reaction should be one of joy to know there is a chance Robert is still alive. And yet, what I heard coming from this room was not a tone of happiness."

  She snapped the fan closed. "No it was not. I believe that man you just paid off is a con man and that note a lie. Someone is trying to encroach onto our family and play off of our weaknesses. I will not give into it."

  "So you won't be joining me on the voyage to Havana." He looked at Solange. "Would you like to come, young lady? I'm sure getting out of this house would do you good."

  Solange's eyes widened when she found him looking at her, and even asking her if she'd like to travel. Her mouth opened and she saw Catherine looking at her, then she looked down. "Only if my Mistress allows it."

  "Of course I won't allow it. I will go." Catherine slapped the fan on the desk.

  George licked his lips. "And you will take Solange. I think it would be best if you had your attendant with you. Someone who already knows your temperament and how to…manage it."

  Solange kept her face straight, but she realized Uncle George had just insulted his niece, in the nicest of ways.

  He turned away from the desk. "Catherine, I would hope you take this missive seriously. There is nothing to be gained by someone lying about this, other than perhaps monetary compensation if we do indeed find Robert. I would also hope you would want to find Robert."

  She crossed her arms under her bodice. "So he can claim the family fortune, uncle? So he can lord over us both?"

  "If that is how you believe Robert would act, then it is truly obvious you never knew your brother. He is quite your opposite. In every way." He smiled at her. "By finding Robert alive, it validates the passage of the estate over to him, and knowing your brother,
he would gladly share everything with you."

  Catherine didn't say anything. Only stared at the oil lamp's flame. Solange stared at the letter in George's hand, wanting desperately to see it. She could read. It was something Robert had made sure to teach her. But no one else knew.

  Finally Catherine said, "When do we leave?"

  "I can have the arrangements made at the end of the week." He headed toward the door and then stopped and looked back. "That is, if the messenger doesn't return this evening." His gaze slid over to Solange and she watched him leave the note on a table by the door before he left.

  There was silence in the room once the door closed. Solange didn't dare move, or breathe, or even speak.

  Finally, after what seemed an eternity… "I'll need lighter things packed, Solange. And I'll need…" Catherine sat down at the desk and began opening drawers. She muttered to herself but Solange couldn't understand all of it, until, "…not a stupid cow. I know father preferred his son. Yet I was born first, but born a woman. With no rights and no title. No power. And yet my brother, even dead, still controls my life."

  Solange remained quiet, glancing at the note on the table by the door.

  Catherine finally looked up and stared at Solange. "Why are you still here?"

  She nodded, curtsied and moved to the door. With a glance back to make sure Catherine wasn't watching her and was indeed engrossed in whatever she was doing, which looked like writing a letter, Solange snatched the note and left the room.

  She hurried down the hall to Catherine's rooms and pulled the suitcases from under the bed, one at a time, not really sure how long a trip to Havana would take. She paused and with a quick look around, moved to one of the lamps. She pulled the note from her apron pocket and carefully opened it. The writing was scrawled but legible.