Bloodborn 3
Prince of Darkness
Married to her job cop, Christine McCall wants to find the murderer of her best friend and partner, David Williams. Pushing aside the guilt she feels at not being able to save him from death, Christine reluctantly agrees to allow Drake Haaken, owner of the BERSERKER club where David had been killed, to help with the investigation.
Thrust into a world that she never knew existed, Christine is torn between her human loyalty and vampire love. The choice she makes may end her life.
Genre: Contemporary, Paranormal, Vampires/Werewolves
Length: 62,302 words
PRINCE OF DARKNESS
Bloodborn 3
Tracy L. Ranson
EROTIC ROMANCE
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Erotic Romance
PRINCE OF DARKNESS
Copyright © 2011 by Tracy L. Ranson
E-book ISBN: 1-61034-104-X
First E-book Publication: February 2011
Cover design by Jinger Heaston
All cover art and logo copyright © 2011 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
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All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
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DEDICATION
To Mary E, the voice of reason and wise advice. Thanks for always being there.
To Dor, I'm glad we connected again because I missed you so much, bud. You always meant so much to me and still do. Best friends are hard to come by.
PRINCE OF DARKNESS
Bloodborn 3
TRACY L. RANSON
Copyright © 2011
Chapter One
“Are you sure this is the right club?” Christine McCall asked her partner, David Williams. She brushed an errant curl over her shoulder and surveyed the nightclub scene before her, silently tamping down her anxiety. Musky, sweat-laden bodies swayed to the hypnotic beat of the music, close and pulsating. Strobe lights danced all around, adding to the mystery of the nightclub. A dazzling-looking deejay flashing beaded dreadlocks and very white teeth was spinning records from the booth in the corner.
Christine edged closer to David, her fingers clutching his arm. She honestly didn’t want to be here. Too many people and too many unknowns. Unfortunately, the police chief had called for their going undercover to help solve the strange, savage, blood-draining murders occurring in Beaumont. So far, no clues hinted in any direction, making it all the more sinister and sadistic.
“Sure is,” David said and leaned in close enough for her to catch a whiff of his sensual, musky cologne. Men’s scents always turned her on except where David was concerned. She’d always thought of him as a big-brother type, not a lover. “The last victim danced here before she was found.”
Christine frowned, her eyes narrowing. Dark figures hugged the walls, filling the couches and every available space. People in a various states of undress touched each other and elicited moans of ecstasy mingling with the Latin influenced rhythm of the music. If any place harbored a killer, this would certainly be it. Named after a Viking warrior who fought with the heart of a bear, the Berserker club certainly lived up to its name. She jerked when David’s voice broke through the aura of her mind. “Then let’s split up and see what we can find.”
David disappeared into the thick throng of people on the dance floor, the blue of his dress shirt disappearing through the darkness shrouding the club’s interior.
Christine drew a deep breath to calm the anxiety storming every cell of her being and made her way to the bar, clutching her small purse with shaky fingers. She ordered a gin and tonic and sipped the alcohol slowly as she scanned the bar. Everyone had secrets to hide, all wearing invisible masks to hide their true selves. She closed her eyes for a moment, and then lifted her lids. She’d never fit in a place like this. People reached out to each other here, almost in a desperate display of desiring attention. That wasn’t her. Affection could get you hurt, not only emotionally but also physically. Mom had taught her that at an early age.
She slewed her head to the right. Nothing new there. She turned left. Gray eyes with the fierceness of a summer storm stared back, cold and calculating yet containing a raw sexuality. Immediately her heart pounded. Who was staring at her? Knock it off, McCall. It’s nothing.
Christine caressed his face visually, noting the high cheekbones and sculpted nose. His full, sensual lips appeared knowledgeable and gentle as if he could awaken every pore of her body with one hot, searing kiss.
Her breathing quickened a little as the corner of the sexy man’s mouth turned upward as if he knew her deepest, darkest desires and would be happy to bring them to life. Long blond hair framed his face in an angelic formation, and from the way he stood, he was probably about her height.
His gaze smoldered with a depth and brilliance she’d never experienced, its raw sexual electricity crackling in the air. Christine’s heart roared as the strange man’s gaze intensified, the light gray turning steely. Almost instantly, the image of this man’s head buried between her thighs and sucking her pussy for what it was worth rose inside her mind. Naturally, he
r body reacted.
Christine closed her eyes again. The vivid fantasy came to life as the stranger rimmed her dripping folds with his tongue, teasing her drenched slit endlessly, up and down. In this daydream, she bucked against his face, dousing him with her juice. She demanded more, much more sucking and teasing.
With a soft chuckle, the stranger obliged her by taking her clit between his teeth. He nibbled the swollen nub between his lips, making sure to caress the blossoming flesh with the rough pad of his tongue. She writhed beneath his expert hands, wanting so much more from him.
One orgasmic wave washed into another one in the daydream, driving her of the precipice of wild, unabashed desire and ecstasy.
“Do I frighten you?”
A smooth, silky male voice broke through her thoughts and sent a bolt of electricity dancing up and down her spine. She snapped her eyes open amid her slightly ragged breath. The handsome stranger stood before her, much taller than she imagined. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Not all at.”
“Good because I do frighten a lot of people.” He swept into a low bow. “Drake Haaken at your service.”
She detected a bit of an accent in his words, but she couldn’t place them. A part-time student of linguistics, she normally could place any lilt, but this one escaped her.
“Thank you, Mr. Haaken, but I really must be going.” Her throat constricted the closer he came, the smell of his musky aftershave overwhelming her no end. Her sex wanted to cream inside of her panties. She’d have to get out of here really fast before anything happened.
He clamped a hand on her arm. “Do you really?”
Bolts of strange desire rumbled up her limbs and stretched out the rest of her body, awakening every inch to his burning touch. She looked down at the strong fingers wrapped around her arm, unhappy with his uninvited clutch. One thing she hated in life was to be touched by people she didn’t know. “Please let go of me.” Quietly, he released her. “I must be going. I have an early day tomorrow.”
The sexy half smile returned, accompanied by a quick jerk of his left eyebrow. “Don’t leave before telling me your name.”
“Christine McCall.” Her open jaw shut. She had inexplicably defied department protocol. She’d never given her real name on any of her assignments, and she wasn’t sure why she did now except a strange feeling compelled her to.
Her nipples puckered beneath the lacy cups of her bra, the hard points pressing hard against the fabric. Thankfully, she’d decided to wear a bra with a slight bit of padding. Otherwise, this stranger could read her desire as easily as he would a book.
“Well, Ms. McCall, it seems as though we’ve got a problem here.”
The weakness in her legs barely kept her standing. “What is that, Mr. Haaken?”
“Music is playing, and we’re not dancing to it.”
Christine vacillated between dancing with him and getting the hell out of Berserker. She didn’t belong here, that much she knew. But dancing with a man who appeared as though he stepped off a romance novel cover definitely did not fit her at all. “I don’t dance.” She spoke the truth. Jason never took her dancing or actually anywhere really. He preferred to sit at home and mentally abuse her.
“You will with me.”
His warm, silky baritone voice provided all the impetus she needed to leave. She didn’t want him to have the chance to be disappointed in her lack of rhythm.
Before she could utter another sentence, a warm blanket of security washed over her. She relaxed her tense muscles a bit, almost as if those very words eradicated every ounce of anxiety out of her.
Mr. Haaken grasped her hand and led her to the dance floor. The music changed to a very low, methodical beat great for slow dancing. Dancers cleared the way for them, parting like the Red Sea.
He guided her to the middle and took her right hand in his left. For a brief moment, she thought he’d take her into an old-fashioned-dance embrace reminiscent of a waltz, but apparently, he possessed other ideas.
His thick arms wound around her and held her to his hard form. She wanted to run away from him, get out from under his touch, but some unbidden force enticed her to stay. His hand slid up her back, his chilly palm spanning the width, almost as if he attempted to keep her from running.
“This feels good, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” she heard herself say in a throaty whisper. Where did that come from? After Jason, she never wanted any man’s touch, but she inexplicably craved this stranger’s.
“I want you to call me Drake,” he whispered into her ear.
Christine trembled against him and laid her head against his chest, closing her eyes. Her better senses told her to run yet being this close to a damned good-looking man felt wonderful. “Drake then.” The silkiness of his white shirt brushed against her face like the softest swan’s down. Tendrils of his blond hair brushed against her cheeks, silky and soft.
Drake’s black leather pants rustled against her miniskirt, the thick bulge poking in her belly unmistakable. She knew what he wanted, what all men wanted eventually.
“You are a beautiful woman, Christine. Why don’t you come with me for a private drink?”
Just a she opened her mouth to reply, a scream erupted in the crowded club. Her senses returned in a flash, and she snapped out of the strange trance, slewing her head toward the sound.
“Someone’s been murdered in the alley!”
Christine shoved her way through the throng of sweaty bodies toward the back of the crowded club. She nearly flashed her badge but remembered in time that she was undercover.
Rushing through the crowd, she made her way out to the dimly lit back alley only to see David Williams, her partner, lying in a thin pool of his own blood. Fright for his life propelled her to his side. She dropped to her knees and cradled his head in her hands, her breathing erratic. “David? Can you hear me?”
His eye fluttered opened. “Christine? Is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me, David. It’s Chrissy.” She normally hated the name, but for some reason, she felt okay with David calling her that on occasion. Centering her attention on his injuries, she noticed the gaping wound in the area of his jugular vein, bright red spurts of crimson spraying with every beat of his heart. She immediately applied pressure with the tips of her fingers to stop the bleeding. Don’t die on me, damn it!
“My girl,” he said softly. “Where ya been?”
She rocked a little bit and told him in a reassuring tone, “I’m right here.”
He licked his bloody lips. “I can’t see you. Where are you?”
She stilled while the tears threatened to roll of her eyes. “Someone call for an ambulance!” she cried into the crowd. Cell phones flipping open echoed over her shoulders as most in the throng tripped over themselves to call for help. She looked down at David’s pale, drawn face made ghostly by the dimness of the light over the exit door. “I’m right here, David. I’m not going anywhere.”
David turned his dying stare into her face and told her, “Good because I’m scared.”
She brushed stray wild strands of his dark hair out his face and brushed a kiss across his semi clean forehead. “Don’t be. I’m right here with you. What happened?”
Thick plumes of blood bubbled between his lips and congealed. “I was just dancing with this broad. Then all of a sudden, she attacked me.”
Thin, distant wails of sirens allayed her fears he would die. They’d make it just in time and save his life. “The ambulance is almost here. Just hang on.”
David’s blood dripped onto her skirt, but she didn’t care. He’d been like a brother to her in the years they’d been partners. They’d been two kindred souls lost in the turbulent sea of life. Just like her, he’d been kicked out onto the streets at a young age, forced to find his own way through life. At least he didn’t have a crack-addicted teenage mother and no idea who his father was.
“I will,” he groaned.
His eyes fluttered a bit more and closed, his
breathing slowing down to almost a soft whisper. Tears misted her eyes, but she held them back. She never cried for any reason and now wasn’t the time. She rocked a bit. “Don’t die on me.”
David put his arm around her neck and pulled her closer in an apparent effort to erase any existing doubts “I’m not gonna. I’ll be back.”
The rescue squad stopped next to her, and two paramedics jumped out loaded with equipment. Holding onto his hand, she held David’s head in her lap while they worked to start IVs and inject meds.
Once stable, the paramedics loaded him into the ambulance and roared off toward the hospital with wailing sirens and flashing lights. She wanted to ride with him, but the idiots who responded to the call had to talk to her and ask some questions. The extensive numbness and shock had made the task almost impossible.
Christine unblinkingly climbed into the cruiser and stared straight ahead through the smudged window. How in the hell could this have happened right under her nose?
* * * *
Drake watched the chestnut-haired beauty climb into the police cruiser and concentrate her blank look to the world ahead of her. She seemed so upset yet so composed at the same time. He’d never seen a human do that before.
“How did you make out with your beauty?” Nicholas asked from his right.
“Not very well I’m afraid,” Drake said slowly and, with his arms crossed over his chest, watched the police urge people back into the club. The alley crawled with detectives, all of whom would want to question him at some time or another about the attack since it had happened outside of his club. He wasn’t in the mood for any type of interrogation at the moment. “Don’t worry, she’ll be back.”
Ranson, Tracy L. - Prince of Darkness [Bloodborn 3] (Siren Publishing Classic) Page 1
