by Kim Loraine
“Why does it have to be me?” Gwen asks as we stand outside the door to the flat where Tamiel housed our chosen one. I can feel the magic of his fae blood from behind the door. Perhaps I should pay a little visit to Avalon. I haven’t spoken to the Lady of the Lake in quite some time.
“You are the only one who can do this. Now, stop whining.”
I push open the door and shove her through, barely controlling my frustrated sigh. If God says jump, you say how high? That’s how this works. Why do these creatures consistently fight me on this?
The knight is asleep on the couch, complexion pale but with a little more life than I expected. No doubt his trace of fairy lineage has helped him combat the demon venom in his system. Honestly, the fact that he thought he could fight a horde of demons with nothing more than a sword—even Excalibur—was insanity. Clearing my throat, I use my grace to turn on every light in the small flat.
He opens his eyes, blinks a few times, then his brows pull together in a frown as he stares from me to Gwen. “Guinevere?”
“You.” She spits the word, a ferocity and venom coming from her I've never seen. "Of course, at a time when I don't have my magic."
"You're a witch? That makes perfect sense to me now. Why else would I have sacrificed everything for you?" His voice is laced with anger and tight with pain, but there’s strength behind his words.
Oh, Father help me. This is not what I expected.
"Get me away from him," Gwen orders, urgency in her tone.
"Gwen, really? That’s not an option.” I try to argue, but she's blind with anger. This is a Gwen I’m not familiar with. “He’s no danger now. He can barely move.”
"He can't be trusted. First Tristan, then Paris. Don't you see? Even death won't stop Calista from ruining us."
"Do you honestly think I’d put you in danger? He’s the key to ending the apocalypse…to getting you your magic.”
"This man might claim to be righteous and good, but he's not.” She glares at him. “You made certain I learned that lesson well, didn't you?"
I look at the man whose face holds betrayal and confusion. "What is she talking about?”
Gwen stares hard, rage on her face. "Why did you tell them your name was Arthur?”
“I never said that.”
She turns to me and I realize with absolute certainty she had no clue who was waiting behind the door when we arrived. “This has to be some kind of joke. Right, Gabriel? There is no way the archangels think I need to be tied to my former lover.”
“I don’t joke. He’s your responsibility, Gwen. From now until I lift the enchantment, you are bound to Lancelot.”
Then, I leave. The two of them can work out their issues on their own. I’m an archangel, not a therapist.
Immortal Flame: The Siren Coven
About the Author
Kim Loraine was raised a Navy brat but spent most of her life growing up in the beautiful Pacific Northwest. A proper Washingtonian, she's addicted to coffee, doesn't let a little rain ruin her day, and thinks the sun is a gift from God. When not chasing her three little minions around, Kim spends her time writing, reading, and binge watching Doctor Who.
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Also by Kim Loraine
Books by Kim Loraine
Paranormal Romance
The Siren Coven
Eternal Desire
Cursed Heart
The Fallen Angel Trilogy
Waking the Watcher (FREE)
Denying the Watcher
Releasing the Watcher
Contemporary Romance
The Cocktail Girls
His Whiskey Sour (A Stand Alone Rock Star Romance)
The Golden Beach Series
Restoration
Renovation
Foundation
Resonance
Redemption
Resolution
Devotion
Sneak Peek
Waking the Watcher (The Fallen Angel Trilogy #1) by Kim Loraine
Waking the Watcher
Chapter One
Galen
The darkness covers me like a cloak, keeping me out of sight and hidden from view. I need to hunt, need to feed, the urge so strong, my fangs descend before I’ve even zeroed in on my prey. In the almost one hundred years of my existence as a vampire, I’ve never been this filled with hunger. I watch the crowded dance floor as bodies writhe and sway. Sweaty skin, flushed cheeks, all ripe for the picking. Try as I might, I can’t find the one I need tonight. It’s never easy, choosing the girl I’m going to kill, but I always find her.
Tonight the club is filled with the same women I always see. Desperate for love, attention, and validation that they’re not too old to be there. Usually this means plenty of easy targets. I could have any of them up against the wall, my teeth in their necks. I like to pretend there’s more coming. Make them think I’m going to fuck them before I feed. I suppose I do, sort of. I send them off into oblivion in a rush of pleasure more powerful than any orgasm they’ve ever experienced. I just can’t do it with my cock.
I used to miss it, the feeling of blood filling my dick, the tightening in my balls right before I came. Maybe I still do, in a way, but usually it’s eclipsed by another sort of lust.
A busty redhead catches my eye, her lush, pouty lips the sort of thing I’d have gone for when I was a horny lad spending my nights at the pub. She grins and curls a finger, beckoning, and I head in her direction. She’s just the kind of woman I like to take. She’d give me a wild ride, and I’d leave her drained in the alley. As I move across the floor toward her, the smile she sends me tells me she’s been waiting for me to notice her.
“It took you long enough, handsome,” she purrs in my ear.
I don’t smile at her teasing. All I want is to feed, but something is missing in this woman. She doesn’t feel right. I could feed off her and be done with it, but I know she won’t fully sate my thirst. Her hand runs up my chest and into the hair at the back of my neck.
“God, you’re hot. Want to get out of here?” she asks, pressing her breasts firmly into my chest.
I barely hear her, though, as my heart gives an alarming stutter. I usually don’t feel its slow pulse. It thuds again—hard. What the hell? Turning my head, I see her. She’s not a ravishing beauty by any means, but there’s something innately sensual about her as she stands with her back pressed to the bar, talking to a friend, her long, dark hair falling over one shoulder. Wide blue eyes meet mine, and I’m instantly hard. What is happening to me? I remove the redhead’s hand from my neck and, without a word, stalk my way across the dance floor. I have to be with this woman. She’s the one I need to feed from tonight. The one I need to do so many other things to as well. So many things I haven’t been able to do for a hundred years.
Her brows rise when I reach her, and I don’t blame her for being startled. I’m standing inches away from her. I’m much too close for most people’s comfort, but I need to drink her in. To be surrounded by the heat radiating from her body. My dick twitches as I lean even closer and breathe in her scent. What is she doing to me?
“Come with me,” I demand, hitting her with the full force of my gaze.
She laughs softly and blinks up at me. “Does that work on anyone? Really?”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I’ve never had to do more than that. This is both frustrating and curious. Typically, I lay the Dracula hypnosis on them, and they do what I want.
“Usually every time,” I admit.
Her hand brushes mine, and we both take in sharp breaths at the tingle that starts to build where our skin touches.
“I’m Reese,” she says.
“Galen,” I offer. I don’t know why I told her my real name. I usually g
o with something overtly masculine like Trent or Dirk. Galen betrays my deep Irish roots. I’ve always thought it made me sound soft.
“Galen.” She tries my name out as if checking to see how it feels on her tongue.
I have to bite back a moan as an image of her tongue wrapped around my cock floods my mind. I’m painfully hard. If I’m not buried balls-deep in this woman in the next ten minutes, I might explode.
“Are you here to find someone to fuck or marry?” I ask. Tactful? No. But I need to get to business, right now.
Her mouth falls open into a little “O” of surprise, and I roll my eyes. She’s oblivious to the fact that she’s killing me.
“Look, I’m serious. I’m not looking for more than someone to share an amazing night with. I want that someone to be you. Come with me, Reese. I’ll show you more pleasure than you could ever dream of.”
She swallows and motions for the bartender to fill her drink, tossing it back as soon as the glass hits the bar.
“Promise?” she asks.
I feel a little guilty, promising her pleasure while planning to end her life. But then she accidentally brushes her hip against my crotch, and I know I have to take her. There’s something special about Reese, and I’m not going to risk missing out on that just because I have to kill her.
It takes everything I have not to press Reese into the alley and thrust myself inside her. A deep ache settles in my balls as they tighten and my shaft hardens even more, as if that’s possible. We walk in tense silence, my hand on the small of her back.
“Where are we going?” she asks, her words a soft, husky melody breaking through the quiet night.
“My driver is around the corner. I assume you don’t have a problem coming back to my place?”
She straightens her shoulders, stopping us in the middle of the sidewalk, and places herself directly in my path. “No. No problem.”
A jolt runs through me at the determination hiding in her expression. Leaning into me, she runs a tentative hand up my chest before pressing her body against mine. I know she’ll feel me, hard and ready, but I don’t give a damn. All I want at this moment is to keep feeling her. The heat of her skin and the soft scent of vanilla in her hair mix with the headier scent of her arousal, overwhelming me. Before I can react, her lips are on mine, and a fire overtakes me.
My hands tangle in her long, dark hair, taking her kiss from gentle to frantic in the space between breaths. Now that she’s crossed the threshold, I can’t keep hold of my control. I press my hips into her, making sure she feels what she’s doing to me, needing the friction to relieve some of the pressure against my fly. She parts her lips on a little moan, giving me the delicious opportunity to slide my tongue in her mouth. Fuck, she tastes like wine and honey. It’s intoxicating, and I want more. My head spins as her breasts rub against my chest and her fingers fumble with the buttons on my shirt.
“You’re cold,” she murmurs against my lips.
“Aye.” I hear myself speak but barely recognize the rough tone. My Irish is showing, but I couldn’t care less. “Aren’t you?”
As if she’d forgotten we were standing in the middle of the sidewalk, she blinks hard and quickly steps away. The absence of her heat is like a little death. I need her like a drowning man needs air. The town car is mere feet away from us, but I never want to stop kissing her. Pulling her to me again, I cover her mouth with mine and cup her luscious ass, lifting her with little effort. When she wraps her legs around my hips, a surge of victory runs through me. Long, drugging kisses keep me walking slowly toward the car. I hold her up one-handed while I open the door with the other. Never breaking contact with her lips, I maneuver us into the backseat, laying her out across the leather. It’s more cramped than I’d like, but for what I have in mind, it’ll do.
“Wait.” That one word, just a breath from her lips, hits my veins like ice water.
Her small hand pushes at my chest, and, although it physically hurts me, I move away. “Don’t stop this. Not now.” I’m still kneeling on the floor, hovering over her.
I can hear the erratic beating of her heart, the blood pulsing through her body, but all I want is to be with her, inside her. Sitting up and scooting to the other side of the car, she straightens her skirt and turns away from me. Panic sets in, gripping my chest.
“Let me out,” she says.
“Reese …” I don’t know how to stop her. I could just take her, here and now, but I’ve never raped a woman, and I’m not going to start now.
Her whole body is trembling as she reaches for the door. “This was a mistake. I…I can’t do this.”
Somehow, I manage to keep myself from following her out of the car, even though every nerve in my body is screaming at me to take her and sate my lust. Why am I reacting this way? I try to convince myself that her leaving is a good thing. Something must be wrong with me. Who knows what might have happened if I’d had my way with her? My cock throbs, straining against my pants, a painful reminder of Reese.
Ten minutes later, as my driver pulls the car into my underground garage, I shift uncomfortably, trying to rid myself of the erection tenting my pants. I need a release—that much is obvious. Aching with need, I rush through the door and into my home, pulling at my trousers as I make my way to the shower.
“Is that a banana in your pocket or are you happy to see me, Galen?” Devin’s amused timbre carries through the darkened living room, stopping me in my tracks. Being caught by my friend and mentor with a raging erection is mortifying to say the least. Although he’s not responsible for changing me, he has been my sole source of guidance over the last ninety-odd years, and he doesn’t ever let me forget that fact.
“What the fuck are you doing here, you wanker?”
He raises an eyebrow as he switches on the lamp. “Looks to me like you’re about to be the wanker.”
Embarrassment floods me. I’m like a horny teenager who just discovered his dick. “I don’t know what’s going on. I was hunting, I saw her, and then…this.” I gesture to my crotch.
Devin shakes his head and mutters, “Lucky bastard.”
“Not lucky enough.” I let out a sigh and rake my hands through my hair. “I let her go.”
My friend stares at me, his face a mask of indifference. “Well, I need to hunt. I haven’t fed in almost a week, but being the considerate friend I am, I stopped by to see if you wanted to come with me. Do you need to take care of your…problem? Or can we go?”
The desire for Reese still burns in the back of my mind, but as I think about feeding, I can feel the bloodlust building inside. “Let’s go.”
Reese
It’s official. I’m the worst at one-night stands. There I was, beautiful man ready to fuck me senseless, and I chickened out. Why is this so hard for me? I’m twenty-three. No one is still a virgin at twenty-three anymore, right? Except for me.
Lying stretched out in my bathtub, I listen to the latest smutty romance novel I downloaded on audiobook. The heroine is just about to give it up to the biker bad boy, and all I can think about is Galen. He was mesmerizing. The things I wanted to do to him played over and over in my mind. Things I’d only ever read about.
A sharp knock on the bathroom door has me pulling the curtain around the tub and sinking lower to hide beneath the bubbles.
“Reese? Can I come in?” Trisha calls through the door.
“Only if you bring more wine.”
She laughs as she steps inside the steam-filled room. “On it, boss.”
Through the sliver of space between the curtain and the wall, I see her grab my empty wineglass from the little table next to the tub and silently bless her.
“So? It didn’t go as you planned?” Her tone is casual but curious as she returns and places a full glass within my reach.
“I think I’m broken.”
“Maybe he just wasn’t what you were looking for?”
“Did you see him? He’s what every straight woman is looking for. He even had an accent.
”
She sighs and takes a seat on the closed toilet before turning off my audiobook. “God, for a virgin, you really like the sexy books.”
“Research,” I say before taking a gulp of my wine.
“I think what you need is some hands-on research at this point. What happened? Things looked pretty intense between you when you left.”
Remembering the heat in his gaze sent a shiver through me. “I don’t know. I got in his car, I swear, he was going to seal the deal right there, but then I panicked. It seemed like it was going so fast.”
“Sweet Reese, guarding her flower.”
I fight off the frustration that wells up inside me. “That’s not it, and you know it. I’m not saving myself, I just haven’t taken that step.”
“Yet.”
I nod. “Yet.”
It’s not that I don’t want to have sex. I’m more than ready. There just hasn’t been that … spark with anyone. I want passion and fireworks when I finally give it up. But, maybe that’s not how it really is. Then again, what happened between Galen and me had been the epitome of passion. I had thought my knees were going to give out on more than one occasion during our makeout session on the sidewalk. Just thinking about his hands in my hair, the press of his thickness against my core, the way he murmured my name …
“Reese? Hello?” Trisha is still here. Shit. She’s talking to me, and I’m fantasizing. What is wrong with me?
“Sorry, I must’ve dozed off,” I lie, thankful the shower curtain is covering me.
