Crimson Lust
Rebecca Royce
Part of the Emerald Isle Fantasies series.
Felicity Hahn is a thief on the run in Ireland. She can’t go home and spends every day hoping Interpol doesn’t catch up with her. But when she steals a crimson-red necklace, she may have gotten more than she bargained for.
Cian Finnegan is a vampire who was turned outside the gates of Castle Tullamore over three hundred years earlier. He chases the woman who stole his necklace back to the castle, now a hotel, both to recover his possession and because her scent makes him as hard as hell.
Can the magic of the Emerald Isles give these two a happy ending, or is it too late for them both?
A Romantica® paranormal erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave
Crimson Lust
Rebecca Royce
Chapter One
Just outside of Castle Tullamore, 1615
“Stop him. He’s getting away.” The panicked voices of Chichester’s guards filled the almost-dawn landscape, replacing the usual sounds of the curlew chirping, announcing the rise of the sun, the beginning of a new day.
Cian Finnegan grinned, pressing the necklace more firmly into his hand. They could search for him all they wanted—Chichester’s cronies wouldn’t find him. He’d spent enough time hiding out and running from authorities that he could virtually disappear from sight any time he wanted. No one knew the path he was walking even existed, thanks to the numerous landowners who had taken over Tullamore through the years. Thank the heavens for short memories.
And right now, given that he’d just stolen a small fortune in the form of a ruby necklace from the haughty Arthur Chichester, or to be more specific, Chichester’s wife, Cian had no intention of being caught with the pilfered jewelry. He’d sell it, buy passage on a ship heading for anywhere, and be done with the misery that was Kilmorny. Wherever he went, no one would know anything about his father or what the bastard had done to soil their name.
Somewhere where the ladies would fawn on him and the Chichester devils wouldn’t be staring down their British noses at the poor commoners too low for their haughty notice.
Cian stopped in his tracks. A shiver traveled up his spine. He turned around, scanning the area as best he could. The darkness didn’t bother him. He’d walked the dirt paths in the blackness enough that he knew every ditch, every large stone, every possible disaster. The sun would be fully up soon and the dots of light appearing over the horizon gave him more than enough brightness to navigate his surroundings.
So what had him jittery?
Nothing alarming called his attention. The air blew lightly around him. His friends would be long home from the pub, not knowing that he’d done what he always wanted to do, taken the crimson symbol of all that was wrong with his world right out from under their noses.
The guards were going the wrong way looking for him. He grinned. His nervousness had to be some kind of delayed reaction to the whole night. Nothing more. Unless the rumors proved true and monsters really did roam the countryside at night.
He turned back around. Nope. He would not—could not—let his imagination run away with him. Not when he’d got so close to acquiring everything he’d ever wanted out of life.
With his hands in his pockets, he strode down the path toward his small cottage. He’d spend one more night sleeping in poverty before he moved on to the next phase of his existence. Soon, Kilmorny would barely factor in his memory.
He rounded a sharp corner, colliding with something in the still-dark morning. Falling backward, he stumbled two steps before he caught himself. Dodging to the right, he tried to make sense of what had happened. What on earth had he run into? A tree? A wall? Had he misjudged his location?
“Easy there, Cian. You’re not going to find me swinging around like that.”
Cian jolted to the right, in the direction of the voice that had spoken to him. He hadn’t recognized it.
“Who’s there?” He tried wildly to figure out who he was talking with. Had the guards somehow found him?
“You don’t know me. But I know you. For the last three weeks you’ve traveled these paths at this hour. Planning something, were you? From the way you smell tonight, I’d say you accomplished your goal.”
The man’s words made no sense. The way he smelled? “Look, I don’t know who you are but I don’t appreciate this little game you’re playing. If you want me to see you, come here where I can make you out and we’ll talk like men.”
“Ha.” The man snickered and shivers traveled up Cian’s spine. Something didn’t feel right. The way the man laughed… Cian took two more steps away. He didn’t run from trouble, however this didn’t feel at all like normal trouble—it seemed really, really different.
“You’re funny. You’re young, virile. Stupid. Exactly the type of boy I love to hunt. And I have been hunting you.” The man in the darkness took a deep, long breath. “For quite a while. There’s nothing like the anticipation of it for me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about and if you’re saying what I think you’re saying, I have to tell you I’m not interested. That’s not my way. I like women. Stay away or I’ll break your neck. I swear I will.”
Was his voice shaking as he spoke? He didn’t know. As he turned on his heel, his ears rang. He needed to flee, to run away from whomever this deranged stranger happened to be, before this unknown threat ruined everything. Cian could fight well. His friends never bested him when it came to using his fists. But this didn’t feel like that.
“Oh, please. You think this is about sex?” Cian smashed into the stranger again, this time falling backward. He never hit the ground. Instead the man hoisted him into the air so that his feet dangled off the ground.
How could this be happening? How could any of this be real?
“This is about blood, my beautiful young friend. And yours…it smells like heaven to me.”
A streak of dawn passed through the cloud, the faintest of light illuminating the creature that held him in midair.
Cian sucked in his breath. He’d seen pictures of such things in the drawings of the mad. The priests called them demons, told stories to keep the children off the streets at night. He should have listened.
Pale, red-eyed, with long fangs descending from its wide mouth… Cian knew for the first time in his life that the impossible was possible. Unless he had completely lost his mind, he’d encountered a vampire.
“I hope you’ve made your peace with God, child. After I’m done with you, you’ll be meeting him personally.”
The creature’s fangs assaulted his neck. Cian shouted, calling for help, for divine intervention, for anyone who might make the horror of this single moment end.
“Hey, this way.”
Voices of the guards called out in the night. The vampire hissed, dropping Cian to the ground. Yes, yes, I’d love to be caught. Arrest me for theft. Please. Just make the monster leave.
“Well, this isn’t how I intended things.” The creature leaned over to speak into Cian’s ear. Cian’s own blood dripped down onto the side of his face from where the creature had fed on him. “Perhaps you won’t be meeting God just yet. You’re just going to wish you had.”
Cian closed his eyes, the world tilting at an angle. He tried to call out for help but his throat wouldn’t work. He reached into his pocket, his hand going around the ruby he had stolen. He’d give it to the guards if only they would save his life, if only they would find him on this small path that he’d thought only he knew, he’d do anything if only…
The world went black.
* * * * *
Present day, Dublin
Someone had entered his apartment while he’d been out. Cian stalked slowly into his rooms, sniffing the air. The
intruder had long left. No smell or movement called to the demon within him. Anyone other than the ultimate hunter he knew himself to be would have missed the telltale sign of his apartment’s invasion.
The drawer where he stored his crimson ruby had been left open just an inch. As he always examined it on his way out to feed and held it for a moment when he returned for the day, he knew he’d never leave the drawer open even an inch. For hundreds of years he hadn’t altered his routine. There was simply no way that drawer hadn’t been shut completely when he’d left. The beast within him didn’t allow for that kind of mistake. The man he still struggled to be had become so preoccupied with the jewelry as the sign of his ultimate mistake that holding the damn thing in his hand had become an obsession.
He stormed toward the cracked-open space. The bloody necklace had destroyed everything. Cian threw open the drawer of his bureau, checking for the hundredth time since he’d returned home just to make sure it had, in fact, been stolen from him. He swung the drawer in one hand, finally throwing it against the wall of his apartment. It shattered into a thousand pieces before smashing onto the floor.
He stared at the remains of the drawer for a second. A small piece of wood had broken off in the perfect shape of a stake. He shook his head. If only the legends were true and that small piece of wood inserted into his heart would end his limitless existence. Some goody-two-shoes vampire hunter could come and shove it into his heart.
Only fire—either from the direct rays of the sun or the manmade kind—killed vampires, and the demon, who sometimes still controlled him, had never let him step willingly into either.
He’d long ago given up trying to end his own life. Where were the so-called “Buffys” when he needed one?
With a quick stride, he approached the mess he’d made on his floor. The maid didn’t come in for another two days and he didn’t want to leave the remains of his temper tantrum out for her to ask questions about anyway. He already qualified as her oddest employer—she’d told him so in a letter the year before. Why was he never at home? Why did he only communicate with her at nighttime?
Well, he supposed he could answer that, but she might not like knowing she worked for one of the undead. Sparkly vampires aside, when faced with the actual monster, most human beings ran for their lives. He didn’t want to have to move and he didn’t want to hire a new maid. Better to let her think him eccentric.
Bending over, he picked up a piece of his broken furniture, letting his fingers caress the satin interior of the drawer-that-was-no-more. Someone had taken care to create what he’d so carelessly destroyed. What did it matter that the crimson necklace had finally disappeared? The crimson necklace he’d held on to as his last tie to the life he’d thrown away three-hundred and ninety-seven years earlier had moved on to destroy someone else’s existence. He didn’t need the money and he certainly didn’t require the constant memory it created whenever he looked at it.
His death memory…
A scent wafted up from the red satin lining, reaching his nose. He sniffed, surprised to find that he didn’t just dismiss the aroma as he did most of the smells that assaulted his animal-like senses. At some point, he’d learned to ignore what he didn’t need to focus on.
He couldn’t, however, tune out the scent of his burglar. He picked up the satin drawer lining and held it to his nose. Inhaling, he could immediately tell some things about the intruder. First, the thief was a female. He sniffed again. Between the ages of twenty and thirty. Her scent spoke of health, of youth, of the breeze coming off the sea.
His cock hardened and he almost dropped the satin shelving. What the hell? He didn’t get hard from a mere smell. He hardly ever got hard at all anymore.
He didn’t even know what this woman looked like, other than a general idea of her age and the fact that she now possessed the ruby-red jewelry, the acquisition of which had literally ended his life.
A growl stemmed from the pit of his stomach and his fangs elongated. He wanted her, this faceless someone who had invaded his home, and not to feed on her. No, he wanted to fuck her until he could get the scent of her out of his mind and out of his pores.
He slammed against the wall of his apartment, his hand grabbing his cock through the outside of his pants. God, he wanted her, wanted to wrap himself up in her smell until it covered his body so completely that he couldn’t tell where she began and he ended.
“Damnation, I’m in trouble.”
His knees threatened to buckle and he sank down to the floor to make sure he didn’t fall. When had he last been this out of control? One hundred? Two hundred years ago?
He unzipped his pants, frantic for completion. How could this be from scent alone? He had nothing to visualize, no one to picture while he took himself in his hands.
An image flooded his mind. Small, pale hands with light pink nail polish, reaching out to touch him. He could see it so clearly—it felt like a memory when he knew it couldn’t possibly be one. His years as a vampire hadn’t given him gentle strokes. Sex was all about quickly fucking, satisfying the need to mate before the vampire curse forced him to feed off his partner.
He preferred to keep his meals separate from his sexual encounters.
Groaning, he closed his eyes. The vision of the small, pale hand stroking him continued. He took himself hard in his own grip, desperate for completion. In the distance he could hear a giggle, the faintest feminine sound, and he knew the person who made the noise was the same faceless someone who made his body so hard, the woman who had stolen his already once-swiped his necklace.
He stroked himself, pumping roughly around the hard top of his cock. Cian could almost feel the gentle pull of the faceless female whom his imagination craved. Almost, but not quite close enough for his total enjoyment. He knew that even if he got completion from this act, it wouldn’t be enough. He’d never really know satisfaction until he could have his fantasy woman beneath him, writhing, calling out his name as he jolted in and out of her, again and again.
Squeezing himself tighter—damnation, he was almost there—he could practically feel her warm, tight pussy convulsing around him. His balls hardened and he spilled himself all over his hand. He thought he might pulse forever. Minutes that could have been hours passed before he felt his dick soften in his hand.
Cian laughed, banging the back of his head against the wall. “Hell.”
He closed his eyes, pushing the demon back down to where he could control him again. The sudden surge of sexual desire had made the vampire sit up and take notice. Now, even though he’d fed, he needed blood again to satisfy the beast.
He smiled. The bloodlust didn’t bother him, not when he could actually come like that. His body shuddered and he closed his eyes. What he really wanted involved going to sleep for hours but he knew the monster inside him would never allow that.
A few hours of sleep every few nights constituted the only rest he got. The more tired the creature he internally fought on a daily basis kept him, the weaker his resistance to the evil that wanted to spill from his pores.
Now both he and the monster felt enthused. He stood up. It had been a while since he’d packed a bag and left the area for other pastures. The modern world allowed him the personal freedom to stay where he wanted and not have to answer questions about his odd hours and strange lifestyle. In this new century, neighbors finally left neighbors alone.
He’d leave his maid twice her salary. She’d be thrilled and hopefully it would keep her taken care of until she could find new work. His beast would have preferred to drain her of her life’s blood before leaving. Her scent had clawed at him for a long time now.
But he didn’t want to fuck her, just use her for a quick night feed. He shook his head. Indulging in that kind of thinking would leave him just like the monster that had made him that way. Holding on to his humanity constituted all that separated him from others of his kind. The animals that would never be redeemed.
Opening his closet reminded him of how littl
e he actually owned. He required almost nothing to get through his days. The internet allowed him to invest without ever having to be seen in person. Offshore accounts were as easy to come by as cotton balls.
He threw what clothes he did have into his suitcase and zipped it up. Whether he looked okay in them he did not know. Since the moment he’d awakened on the side of the road as a vampire instead of a man, he’d not seen his reflection in any mirrors. That much of the legend had proved to be true. No direct exposure to midday sunlight and no mirrors showed him to exist.
Yet he continued on. Day by day, moment by moment, forever tormented, forever fighting the change in his nature brought on because he’d been young, stupid, selfish and too full of piss and vinegar to realize he could never have gotten away with his plan.
The universe had certainly found a way to punish him. But now? What had gone on here?
He had a task, a purpose. Not only did he need to retrieve the cursed necklace, but also for the first time in more years than he could fathom he had someone he wanted to find.
His mind whirled with the possibilities of how she might appear. The likelihood that she had the hand he’d visualized during his sudden explosion of sexual need was low. Still, he knew that even if she looked completely different from his expectations, he’d want her.
Of course, how he approached her would have to be handled delicately. One didn’t just walk up to a human woman and demand back a stolen necklace. Not unless he really wanted to explain to her how he knew she’d taken the object.
Above all else, this unknown person could not find out the truth of his situation. She must never be allowed to discover that he was, in fact, a vampire.
He gritted his teeth while his fangs threatened to lower. Now that he’d packed his suitcase, he’d have to feed again.
In fact, he might have to keep a constant supply of blood with him just to be careful.
Something about this woman called not just to the man but to the beast inside.
Crimson Lust Page 1
