Table of Contents
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Book List
Contact
About Bella
The characters and events in this novel are entirely fictional. No similarity between any of the names, characters, persons, and/or institutions in this book with those of any living or dead person or institutions is intended, and any such similarity which may exist is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by Bella Roccaforte
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means including photo- copying, recording, or information storage and retrieval without permission in writing from the author.
BellaWrites.com
Chapter One
“Passion, lust, unrequited love.” Grey unbuttons his black suit jacket as he paces across the front of his lecture hall. “That undeniable need to be near someone, have them, possess them, make them part of you…” He squeezes his eyes shut and balls his fist in front of him as though the passion of his words pain him in some way.
“That feeling is what a classic work of art is made of.” A knowing smile stretches across Grey’s full lips as he gazes out upon the swooning college students, hanging on his every word.
“Art is riddled with the twisted love affairs that we love to read, watch and learn about. They portray the fantasy of being swept off our feet and tangled in the throes of unbridled passion and lust.”
Grey inhales a breath and watches to make sure his audience is still hooked, “The kind of passion that drives us to the ends of the Earth, deep into insanity to do whatever we must to please our lovers.” He pauses, his expression darkens, “But the topic of love and art go hand in hand with pain, suffering and loss. This is why we will be studying the works featuring Persephone and Hades. A tragic love affair.” He stops to study the moon-eyed students. A silent laugh rumbles within him, reveling in the folly of the living. Their youth brings on a nostalgia of a time when he was young, eager to love and he was alive.
“Their story is a legend that has been told for thousands of years through paintings, sculpture and written word. Why have artists found their story compelling enough to be inspired to action?” He waits for a response.
Melanie, the young woman who always sits in the front row of the lecture hall, turns in her homework early and always asks for a deeper understanding of the subject, inhales a breath moving tentatively in her seat. “Because Hades claimed Persephone, stole her away and then won her heart.”
“That’s one dimension.” Grey nods flashing his stormy blue eyes in her direction. “But as we dig deeper into their story, we will find a myriad of delicate layers.” Grey slides his pocket watch from his jacket and notes the time. “We’re out of time for today, next week you have a paper due on the art and insight of why Hades and Persephone has compelled artists and remains a story that has been told through the ages. You will find all the requirements on the student portal online. You are dismissed.”
As always the students linger, wanting to spend just one more moment with their dashing professor. Grey can smell their blood pumping hot through their veins, their pheromones oozing from their skin. He’s no stranger to desire. He could have any one of them as a feeding host, a plaything or both. But he prides himself on the control he has developed over the centuries.
The students file out of the room slowly, but Melanie, as always, remains behind, “Professor Hart?”
“Yes, Melanie?” He says gathering his notes and placing them carefully in his briefcase.
“Why the story of Persephone and Hades?” She says fluttering her lashes.
Grey closes his briefcase and pins her with a look, “That’s exactly the topic of your paper. I wouldn’t want to take the fun out of it for you.”
“I just wanted to get your insight. I’m very familiar with the story. I love Greek mythology.” She leans both hands on his desk pushing her cleavage together to entice him, “It fascinates me.”
“I’m glad you’ll enjoy the subject then.” He fastens the latches on his case. “I’ll see you next week.”
Dejected she turns and collects her things from her desk. “I’ll see you next week, Professor Hart.”
“Indeed.” He doesn’t look up at her.
He sniffs at the air and is immediately on alert. Dread fills him for a split second along with his need to protect Melanie from the vampire he smells nearby.
Grey blows out a reserved breath of relief when he sees a familiar vampire standing in the doorway.
Melanie smiles as she brushes by him, “Excuse me.”
The vampire steps slightly out of her way, never taking his eyes off of her, “Certainly.”
A sinister smile lights his features, and he begins to slow clap as he walks into the lecture hall, “Bravo, Grey.”
“Charles.” He acknowledges his oldest friend, his maker with a sense of foreboding. “What brings you to New York?”
“I just wanted to see if the master of control, was still…” He sits in one of the desks and crosses one ankle over his leg, “In control.”
“It’s quite easy,” Grey says moving around to the front of his desk.
“What I don’t understand is, why?” Charles asks, genuinely curious. “You have all of this power, could have any or all of the women swooning over you in this classroom, yet you abstain?”
“I have found pleasure in so many other things, and prefer to avoid that type of distraction.” He says leaning on the front of his desk. There’s more to Grey’s motives for control, but he keeps that close to his chest.
“I’m so glad to hear that,” Charles says standing. “Let me buy you a drink.”
Grey hesitates and rubs the stubble on his chin, “What do you want Charles?”
“That’s why I like you, straight and to the point.” Charles puts his arm around Grey leading him toward the door. “I have a proposal for you, we’ll discuss it over dinner.”
“I’m not particularly hungry,” Grey says sliding his case off the desk.
“You are tonight.” Charles quirks his brow.
“I am not,” Grey says stiffly. He’d rather get to the point, so he knows what awful task Charles has in store for him. “What is it you want, Charles.”
“Fine. I would have preferred the niceties first. We could go to the hunting grounds, and you could indulge in some warm, live food for a change.” Charles’ eyes gleam with excitement awaiting Grey’s response, hoping to hell he’ll cave.
Grey swallows hard thinking of warm blood trickling down his throat. He feels the ticking of the pocket watch against his leg and is reminded of the destruction his loss of control can bring. “Now, Charles.”
“That favor you owe me?” He pins Grey with a look that sends a shiver down his spine.
“I don’t owe you a favor.�
�� Grey reminds Charles.
“Grey, you and I both know that you will always owe me a favor.” Charles’ voice deepens.
“What do you want.” Grey grinds it out through his teeth.
“We have a problem, that someone with your control, and standing with The Directive,” He pauses tugging at Grey’s suit collar. “Is required.”
“Please don’t tell me I’m going on another fool’s errand for The Directive.” Grey rolls his eyes and starts out the door.
“Not a fool’s errand, but a very delicate situation.” Charles follows behind. “Where we’d like to save the life of a particular new vampire wreaking havoc in Atlanta. They must be stopped, immediately or they will be terminated.”
“Did you make this vampire?” Grey’s irritation grows knowing how irresponsible Charles has been in the past.
“It’s possible, but I’m not sure.” He answers quickly.
“And you need me to do your clean up.” Grey shakes his head, “This is why I remain in control. So I don’t have any ‘delicate situations’ of my own to deal with.”
They step out of the building, dusk is taking over the Manhattan skyline as they get to the sidewalk and Grey hails a cab. They get into the back of the cab, Grey gives the driver his address, and he turns to Charles. “We’ll talk more in a moment. Catch me up on what else you’ve been up to and how you’ve managed to escape Clarence’s watchful eye.”
“Clarence has been dealing with his own issues of late. I’m also no longer working with The Directive on a regular basis.” He shrugs, “Just enough to know when I need to cover my ass.”
“Or have me cover your ass.” Grey shakes his head in frustration, “You know, there has to come a point when I no longer owe you a favor.”
Charles’ features begin to morph into the angry monstrous face of a vampire becoming enraged, “You will never stop owing your life to your father.” He says with a growl.
The taxi driver glances in the rearview, his eyes flash with panic at the sight as his voice quivers. “Twelve dollars and sixty cents.”
Grey swipes his card in the machine in the back seat and thanks the driver waving his hand, erasing the memory of Charles' face. “Thank you.”
They get out of the cab and head into the luxury apartment building in Lower Manhattan. The doorman greets them with a smile. “So good to see you again Professor Hart.”
“And also you Luis.” Grey tips his head.
Once alone in the elevator, Grey turns to Charles, anger flashing in his eyes, “I never asked for this.”
“What? Immortality, the ability to basically do whatever you want? Control humans at the wave of a hand.” Charles blows out a breath, “Centuries have past, and you’ve still got that chip on your shoulder. Maybe if you learned to have a little fun you could --”
“Could what? Be running from The Directive because I overstepped the laws?” The doors to the elevator open and they step out together, “I’ve never created a vampire and won’t. I will not take advantage of the innocent or those who are weaker than I. I’m not like you Charles, and you may be my father, but this is it. The last favor I will ever do for you.”
“Wonderful.” Charles smiles as he steps through the doorway of the apartment.
“What am I cleaning up?” Grey places his briefcase on the antique credenza.
“He’s a sweet kid, but I may have misjudged things a bit,” Charles says with a devil-may-care attitude that gets under Grey’s skin.
“Misjudged things?” Grey’s voice reaches an upper register.
“Well, it would seem that he’s taken it upon himself to feed openly.” Charles shrugs his shoulders.
“What do you want me to do? You’re his father, you handle this mess.” Grey goes to the wet bar and pours himself a scotch. He specifically doesn’t offer one to Charles, which goes against his grain, but he’s too angry for hospitality.
“I can’t, the local office of The Directive is already sniffing around. I need to stay clear. But if you have to kill him, do it.”
“Kill him?” Grey protests and downs his scotch instead of sipping it. “If that’s one of your options, why didn’t you do it?”
“As it would happen, he’s the son of a senator or governor or something like that. I really don’t want to kill, since I’ll be able to use him later, but you know I have no patience for newborns.” Charles says it as though he’s just asked Grey to take out the trash.
“I will not.” Grey says with vehemence, “It’s been centuries since I’ve taken a life.”
“That’s not true, World War One, Two? Or have you forgotten that?” Charles begins to lose himself in a memory, “Those were the days, feeding in the battlefield was...glorious.”
“That doesn’t count.” A pang of guilt shoots through Grey at the thought, and the ticking of the watch feels louder momentarily in his pocket. “That was war.”
“That was a smorgasbord.” Charles smiles. “Much better than the plague, wouldn’t you agree?”
Grey blows out a breath, “No, neither were pleasant.”
“You’re such a curmudgeon.” Charles waves his hand and pours himself a bourbon from the bar. “Let’s order in.” Charles picks up his phone. “All this talk of the good ole’ days is making me hungry.”
“I have blood, I will not have you feeding on a live donor in my home.” Grey insists.
“Fine.” Charles' shoulders slump in disappointment. “You will go to Atlanta, find Michael and you will take care of the problem.” Charles awaits Grey’s agreement.
“This is the last time,” Grey says heading toward his bedroom. “I have to pack.”
“Wonderful. When you get there, I will have Angus assist you.”
“Angus?” Grey bristles at the mention of his name. “Why doesn’t he handle this?” Grey asks annoyed.
“He’s a brownie, he’s not equipped, but he can help you find the vamp. Or anything else you desire while you’re there. He’s quite resourceful.”
“I like him okay, I just don’t prefer his…tactics.” Disdain drips from Grey’s tone.
“Exactly!” Charles lifts his finger, “And that’s why I need someone that can exercise your level of control and practice discretion.”
Grey blows out a frustrated breath. He knows he can’t say no, if only for the newborn vampire lost in the city.
“And think of it this way, The Directive will be in your debt for solving this problem, so they don’t have to.” Charles points out. “You don’t want poor Michael’s first run-in with other supernaturals to be...unpleasant.”
“Or deadly.” Grey finishes.
“Yes, you know how The Directive loves when we clean up our own messes before they become disasters.”
Chapter Two
The twinkling Atlanta skyline comes into view, Grey turns the headlights on and lowers his speed to something more reasonable. Throughout the centuries he’s always enjoyed the speed afforded by being a vampire. His reflexes lightning fast and ability to see in the dark gives him the luxury of flying down highways as fast as his Bentley will carry him.
A crooked smirk cuts into his cheek remembering how just a short century ago this journey would have taken him two days on foot. Now, he can make the journey by car in less than six hours, depending on traffic.
He rolls into the valet at the Georgian Terrace Hotel, leaves the keys in the ignition and steps out of the car.
“Professor Hart, it’s a pleasure to have you staying with us again.” An older gentleman approaches the driver’s side of the car.
“Thank you, William, it’s a pleasure to be here.” Grey smile’s kindly. “Bags are in the back.”
Grey adjusts his suit and continues to the concierge, “Good morning, Beatrice.”
“Professor Hart, I was delighted to see your reservation this morning.” The older woman clicks on the keyboard, her expression falls slightly. “There is a problem though.”
“Yes?”
“Penthouse F
our has been reserved for tomorrow.” She says looking up at him with remorse.
“Is Penthouse Six available?” He asks.
“It is.” She smiles.
“That will do then, you know how I love the balconies.” Grey isn’t above using his powers of persuasion, though he typically doesn’t like to.
“Wonderful, I’ll have William bring your bags up. Complimentary breakfast?” She says stopping typing.
“Not today. But thank you.” He says taking the keycard and tapping it on the desk. “And please alert the staff of my usual accommodations.”
“No maid service and you are not to be disturbed.” She confirms.
“Yes, Beatrice, thank you.” He heads for the elevator sliding the pocket watch from his jacket and checks the time. Six thirty AM. Hopefully, Angus is awake and ready to go. I’d like to be home by Monday. He thinks while pushing the button on the elevator.
When he gets to the room, he mashes the buttons on his cell phone to call Angus. The call goes straight to voicemail. He puts the phone back in his breast pocket of his suit jacket and steps out onto the balcony.
He revels in watching the city come to life in the morning hours. This is why he stays at the Georgian, it’s one of the only hotels with balconies, and he remembers the grand opening in Nineteen Eleven. He remarks to himself how the city has changed, this used to be one of the tallest buildings, now it barely peeks over the next city block.
He inhales deeply and catches the scent of something luscious and alluring. He walks to the end of the balcony to get closer to where the scent is coming from. He inhales deeply again, and hunger stirs in the pit of his core. His stomach growls and churns in a way he hasn’t felt in centuries and his cock ticks to life with the need to be touched. He’s brought a small store of blood, which William should be delivering in his bags any moment.
He looks down on the street where there are a few pedestrians, the smell of their fresh warm blood entices him, he wants to jump down and feed on one of them.
The click-clack of a woman’s heels rings in his head as he stalks her with his eyes, her tight skirt hugging her ass. He wants to bury his fangs and cock into her all at once. Drink from her as she wraps her bright red lips around his cock.
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