Alexander's Blood Bride: A Steamy BBW Vampire Romance (Vampires of London Book 1)

by Lorelei Moone

  It would be easy to give up already, but he was determined to check out everything, if only to be able to genuinely tell Michael how stupid his suggestion had been.

  Page after page of blood-splattered women in wedding dresses awaited him. He scrolled and scrolled, through what must have been thousands of images, when the very last result caught his eye: an old illustration, on what looked like parchment.

  It was a woman wearing what looked to be a traditional sort of frock and apron common among the lower classes during the end of the middle ages. Surrounding her stood a few humanoid creatures with monstrous faces and fangs—not a very accurate depiction of vampires, but clear enough to be recognizable.

  Underneath, in Gothic style lettering, it read: Bride of Blood.

  Alexander clicked through and started to read. The entire website contained extracts from an old book the author merely referred to as the Encyclopedia of Myth and Magick. It wasn't complete, but the section on Blood Brides was more informative than anything else Alexander had found.

  "I don't believe it," he mumbled.

  "Found something?" Michael's voice was loaded with glee.

  Alexander glanced up and found that Michael was grinning at him. "Fine. You were right. Listen to this—"

  Alexander held the phone up and started to read aloud.

  "The existence of Blood Brides was first documented by the Ancient Egyptians, who believed that they were sent down by the gods to cleanse the world of evil. The presence of one of these women would inevitably attract all creatures of the night, making them easy to control and/or capture. What is notable about these women is that they themselves are unaware of their powers and often do not understand the attention they attract, yet at the same time, they can be extremely perceptive when it comes to the world at large."

  Alexander looked up. That was it. Catherine had noticed that it was him in the hunting scene painting after all.

  "In ancient Egypt, as soon as a girl was identified as a Blood Bride, she was sent off to be raised by priestesses of Isis at one of the many temples dedicated to her worship. The practice of sending Blood Brides away to become priestesses to a female deity may have extended into Roman times. Some historians believe that the Vestal Virgins of Rome in fact always had at least one Blood Bride among their ranks. There is no conclusive evidence to support this theory, though. More recently, mythical scholars have formulated a theory that the occurrences of Blood Brides in the general populace is directly linked to the amount of supernatural activity at any given time, or in any given region. It therefore follows that a Blood Bride would only be born during times of hardship or when humanity is under threat from evil forces. Therefore, it is thought that during the Great Plague, Blood Brides were a lot more common than they are today. Over the centuries, all manner of tests have been devised to identify if a woman is a Blood Bride, most notably—"

  Inconveniently, that was all there was. The method for identification and specifics regarding Vampirism and Blood Brides were missing.

  Alexander gave the phone back to Michael.

  "So you think that's what she was?" Michael asked.

  Alexander shrugged. "That's what Lucille said she was. That's why they're after her; they think she's a threat to the Council."

  "Do you think she's a threat?"

  Alexander folded his hands. "I just know that the moment she walked in, every vampire in the room turned to look at her."

  Michael looked down at his phone, and scrolled back and forth a few times. "None of this explains how to defeat her powers, though."

  Alexander turned to give Michael a disapproving look. "I don't want to defeat her! I want to keep her safe!"

  "Oh." Michael turned off the phone and put it down on the table between them. "Well then, perhaps your books will be some use after all. Isn't there some law that prevents any vampire from harming another vampire's consort?"

  Alexander waved Michael's suggestion away. He'd thought of that in passing already. "That only works if the intended is willing and not under hypnosis. You forget that this woman fled last night."

  That wasn't the only problem, though. "I don't even know her full name. How will I track her down?" Alexander mumbled to himself.

  Michael knew better than to answer that last, hypothetical question, so they both sat in silence for a while with Alexander lost in thought.

  His thoughts moved back to last night, and the woman Catherine had arrived with. She seemed more extroverted, more of a social butterfly. Perhaps some of his other guests knew her.

  He didn't even notice Michael had left his side, until the latter came back carrying a large envelope.

  "Mail for you."

  Alexander was about to discard it when he noticed the logo in the corner.

  Sotheby's latest auction catalog.

  As cliché as it was, perhaps some high end shopping might take his mind off things.

  Michael grabbed his phone off the table and started tapping away at it; his expression suggested that the time for research had passed. The only thing he would be looking for now was a companion to spend the night with.

  "Well, I'm off. I'll see you later," Michael mumbled a few moments later.

  Alexander waved at him absentmindedly while leafing through the catalog. Nothing inspired him until he reached the very last page of the publication.

  Anyone else might not realize what they were looking at, but Alexander did. Three pieces of old parchment, torn from one side as if they had been ripped out of a book and mounted in glass frames. If it wasn't for the illustration on the first page, he might not even have given it a second look.

  He did a double-take on the description, then got up and headed straight for the land-line phone to RSVP for the upcoming auction.

  Then he settled back down with the catalog and studied the image that had caught his attention in more detail using a magnifying glass to boost his already powerful vision. The illustrations bore an uncanny resemblance to the image he'd just found on Michael's phone. The lettering also followed the same style. Sadly, the image wasn't detailed enough for Alexander to decipher the writing within.

  He had no choice but to attend that auction, win the bid, and study these pages in person after.

  Alexander sat back and closed his eyes.

  Cat smiled at him, innocently, as though she had no idea of the effect she had on him. His whole being ached for her; he wanted to hold her, love her, keep her away from all the evil in the world. She twirled a lock of her long, dark brown hair around her index finger and turned away. Alexander reached out for her arm, but she slipped away. A terrifying, guttural cry pierced the silence; it took him a moment to realize that he was the one who had screamed.

  Alexander tightened his grip on the armrests of his chair, stopping only when the leather under his right thumb gave way and tore.

  Great. This was the second time in 24 hours that he'd accidentally destroyed his property while under the influence of Catherine, the supposed Blood Bride.

  Alexander ran his fingertip across the torn leather and got up. The longer he sat here on his own, the closer he would come to losing his mind.

  All this research, all these books, and none of it would help with his main problem: he still didn't know who or where she was. He had no choice but to go out there and do the necessary footwork to track her down.

  Alexander left the house in a hurry, only to wander the city aimlessly all night. He crossed Kensington, Paddington, Mayfair, and Soho, but there was no sign of her or her unique scent anywhere.

  If only he got somewhere near enough, his nose would pick up on her and lead him to her exact location. He knew that.

  He just didn't know exactly where to look.

  Just before dawn, he had no choice but to suspend the search.

  Chapter Eight

  Today was the big day.

  Cat had woken up a bundle of nerves, after a restless night that featured even more unwanted dreams and fantasies. The star actor in
all of them: Alexander. It was as though the thought of him simply refused to leave her be. Even when she was awake, he was right there, in her mind's eye, every time she blinked.

  How am I going to concentrate? Cat rubbed her eyes and got out of bed. She stumbled into the bathroom to have a shower.

  When she got out, she felt slightly better, but still listless. Back in her bedroom, she put on the outfit she'd laid out the night before, and did her hair, then she made her way toward the kitchen for a much needed caffeine boost.

  Shelly was still in bed, it seemed—her shift wouldn't start until ten o'clock—so their apartment was eerily quiet. Cat tiptoed around the kitchen to prepare her packed lunch, when inevitably, she spilled a big dollop of mayonnaise on the front of her blouse.

  "Dammit!" Cat cursed under her breath as she tried to wipe it clean.

  It was no use, the stain was still visible.

  She dumped the sorry excuse of a sandwich she'd made into a Tupperware box, and rushed back into her room to change.

  A knock on her door interrupted her.

  "Hey..." Shelly stuck her head inside. "Shouldn't you be on your way by now?"

  Cat checked the time on her phone. Shelly was right. "Crap. I spilled something. I can hardly turn up on my first day with a mayo stain on my left boob."

  "Calm down. Take a breath," Shelly said as she stepped inside. "Let's see... Wear this one."

  She held up a simple white blouse.

  Cat sat down on the bed. "That's all wrinkled!"

  "So what?" Shelly held it up into the light. "You're wearing a jacket on top. Nobody will be able to tell."

  Cat sighed and held out her hand. "Fine."

  She quickly changed into the new shirt and buttoned up her blazer to hide the offending wrinkles.

  "Now go. You look fine," Shelly said. "And you'll do fine too. You have nothing to worry about!"

  Cat smiled bleakly. "I hope so."

  "I know so. Now go before you're late on your first day!"

  That was all Cat needed to hear to gather all her stuff in a hurry and head for the door.

  What a start to such an important day , she thought as she rushed toward the main road. As soon as she'd run down the steps to the tube platform, she saw the tail end of the train just as it was pulling away.

  Bloody great.

  At least she wasn't late.

  Despite everything, Cat had arrived at her new place of employment with about a minute to spare. She'd wanted to be early, of course, but you couldn't have everything in life, as her mom liked to say.

  Sotheby's, one of the world's most prestigious auction houses, and the place to be for an art history graduate such as herself. She knew she wouldn't be in charge of anything important, but it was a privilege to be in this building, surrounded by so much wealth and beauty.

  "Catherine?" A stern looking woman in her forties carrying a clipboard approached.

  Cat recognized her from the first round of interviews. She took a step forward and offered her hand for a greeting. "Yes, Mrs. Pryce."

  "Miss!" the woman corrected her, glancing down at Cat's hand, then turning away without shaking it. "Follow me."

  Cat swallowed hard. That wasn't a great start. She held on tightly to her handbag and followed Ms. Pryce, who marched past the reception, through the corridors, and down the stairs leading into the basement at a dazzling pace, which Cat had trouble matching in her shoes.

  "I assume I don't need to explain to you what it is we do here?" Ms. Pryce asked as she paused in front of a non-descript door.

  "No, that won't be necessary," Cat mumbled. How was she meant to address this woman, Ma'am? No, that seemed risky, considering her earlier misstep.

  "You'll be working in here, under Desmond's guidance, cataloging lots and their performance at auction."

  Cat nodded. "No problem. I'm good at—"

  Ms. Pryce shot her a blank look.

  "Cataloging," Cat completed her sentence in a low mumble.

  Of all the bosses in the world, she seemed to have hit the jackpot.

  Cat glanced over at the woman, who impatiently tapped her foot and folded her arms while looking her up and down. Damn. Had she noticed her blouse was wrinkled? Or did she generally disapprove of her outfit?

  Cat reached out for the knob, when the door opened on its own, revealing a frazzled looking man about Cat's age.

  "Whoa, I'm sorry," he said, as he took a step back.

  "Hi. I'm Cat. It's my first day." Cat stretched out her arm at him.

  "Desmond." The man reluctantly shook her hand, then glanced over to Cat's left. "Good morning, Ms. Pryce."

  "I'll leave you to it," Ms. Pryce said, and turned on her heel. The click-clack of her heels against the concrete floor echoed against the walls as she left, making a deafening racket.

  "Well... Nice to meet you, Desmond," Cat said.

  Desmond avoided eye contact and adjusted his thick-rimmed glasses. Clearly he wasn't a people person. "Uhh, yeah. Come in."

  "Is she always like this?" Cat whispered, mostly to herself.

  Desmond smiled bleakly. "You have no idea."

  Cat reciprocated and breathed a sigh of relief. At least she wasn't all alone in this place. And with a bit of luck, they'd be working on whatever it was they were supposed to be working on without too much interference from Ms. Pryce, who probably had more important things to do.

  This is only the beginning, Cat told herself. Everyone starts at the lowest rung.

  "Let me show you what we do here," Desmond said as he waved her over.

  Cat scanned the room. It was plain, like any other basement in any other building. Nothing here suggested that they were underneath one of the most prestigious auction houses in the world.

  "You been here long?" It was all Cat could think of to make conversation.

  "Three years," Desmond said.

  His answer made her heart sank. Working your way up through the ranks clearly took a long time here. Still, this was the only job she'd been offered after applying pretty much everywhere. She was determined to make it work.

  "So these racks here contain binders of old catalogs, from before we started digitizing them. The newer ones can be seen from this computer." Desmond pointed at a workstation that looked to be at least ten years old.

  "We need to prepare materials for upcoming auctions. The format is always the same: a high-res image and a detailed description. Check the previous catalogs for ideas on what to include. Once you're done with each lot, move it out of the inbox and into 'processing.'"

  "Understood."

  Cat took a seat in front of the desk with the computer and started poking around in the upcoming lots while Desmond explained the editing and publishing process. She was only half listening to him as pictures of exquisite artwork and antiques popped up on her screen, distracting her.

  Would she get to actually see any of these items? She hoped that she would.

  Within minutes, the reservations she'd had about Ms. Pryce and her prospects in this job faded, and she became absorbed in her work.

  "Hey," Cat greeted Shelly as she came into the living room.

  "Hey! How did it go? Did you manage to get there on time? Tell me everything!" Shelly demanded as she plopped down on the sofa without even taking her coat off.

  Cat sat back and pinched the bridge of her nose. It had been a long day. Annoyingly, as soon as she closed her eyes, random glimpses of Alexander appeared before her again. Today had gone so well! She hadn't thought of him at all until she got home.

  "Yes, I was on time, but oh my God, my boss is horrible!" She turned to face Shelly, who looked concerned. "Well, one of them is. The guy I'm working with directly, Desmond, he's okay. But the woman who was there at the interview... Wow."

  "Okay... Well, no one ever said it was going to be easy." Shelly rubbed the side of her neck, just underneath the collar of her coat.

  "True, that."

  "And what's the job all about?" Shelly asked.
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  Cat pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around them. That was how she stayed as she told Shelly about her work in so much detail that her eyes glazed over.

  "Well, that sounds interesting." Shelly sounded unconvinced after Cat had finished her account.

  "It is, actually. Not something I want to do forever, but for now it's all right."

  Again, Shelly reached for her neck, scratching at it more vigorously this time.

  "Are you all right?" Cat asked.

  "Huh?"

  "Your neck."

  Shelly stopped scratching and fidgeted with her collar. "It's nothing. Just a little itchy."

  Cat leaned across and pushed Shelly's collar down to take a closer look.

  Her neck was red with scratch marks, but underneath, she could just about make out two brighter dots against Shelly's otherwise fair skin.

  "It's a bit late in the season for mosquito bites," Cat mumbled.

  Shelly shrugged. "With global warming and all, who knows? Anyway, what are you sitting around here for? You've got a job, and survived the first day. This calls for some celebration!"

  Cat blinked a few times. "What do you mean?"

  "Oh come on! You didn't think I'd just let this pass, did you? Get up, we're going out!"

  Cat inhaled sharply, then held her breath. It had been a tiring day. She rubbed her eyes and was instantly confronted with those same visions of Alexander she'd been battling since the party. Every time she saw him in her mind, the visions were accompanied by larger and larger doses of melancholy. She had really messed up that night.

  Ugh . Perhaps the distraction would do her good. She stretched her legs, then slipped her feet into the shoes she'd discarded underneath the coffee table.

  "Fine. Where are we going?" Cat got up and looked to Shelly for instructions.

  The latter shrugged. "Pub on the corner? We won't make it too late. Wouldn't want you to turn up on your second day nursing a hangover."

  "Fair enough." Cat put on her coat and off they went.