A Passion they could not deny
“It works better if you kiss me back.”
His voice was deep, resonant, filled with something she could not discern. It did not matter if she did not understand, her body responded. Heat shot through her veins causing her to shiver. Without another word, he swooped down to capture her mouth again.
Every worry she had dissolved as he slanted his mouth over hers. This time she responded the best she could. It was her first true kiss, for she did not count the few stolen kisses early suitors had subjected her to. If they had been as skilled as Blackburn, Cordelia might have been tempted to break the rules.
Cordelia willingly opened her mouth, allowing Blackburn to slide his tongue in. Little bursts of heat crackled over her nerve endings. Slowly, she skimmed her hands up his chest, over his shoulders, and behind his neck. He took the opportunity to pull her closer, into his warmth. His hands slid down to cup her bottom, pull her tightly against him. Even through the layers of clothing she could feel the beat of his heart.
Her head spun, her body rejoiced. Tentatively, she slipped her tongue into his mouth, sliding it along his as he had to her. The taste of him burst through her, tart lemonade, a touch of brandy, and Nicodemus Blackburn...that was the most intoxicating part. Every reservation she had dissolved into the glorious passion he was building,
Praise for Melissa Schroeder’s Harmless Series
A Little Harmless Fascination” is one of my favorite of the Harmless series. It has some incredibly hot moments as well as some wonderfully tender ones. It is a great romantic read.
Jennfier, RNN
A LITTLE HARMLESS SUBMISSION was just about perfect to me. It had the perfect mix of sexual tension, eroticism, suspense and cheekiness that I've come to associate with Melissa Schroeder's writing.
Rho, TRR
INFATUATION is an awesome contemporary, erotic and military romance that was such a joy to read, I finished it in 24 hrs while having to work. It was sizzling hot and emotional.
Pearl’s World of Romance
Praise for Melissa Schroeder’s Cursed Clan series
First thought when finished: Holy Cow! This is going to be a fun series to read---just the right combo of story/romance!
Felicia, The Geeky Blogger’s Book Blog
This is a great Paranormal Romance novel! The dynamics of the McLennan clan are remarkable, the characters are impassioned and compelling, the plot is riveting and the delivery is faultless.
Smitten with Bad Boys Heroes
Desire by Blood
A Vampire Alliance Novel
Melissa Schroeder
Dedication
To the one person who would never leave me alone about this series: Joy Harris. Thank you for your support, even if it did border on stalking. I treasure our friendship more than you know. Oh, and now will you shut up and leave me alone?
Mel
Acknowledgments
This book was had a long road to publication, and if I did not take a chance and publish it myself, it would not have happened. So many people helped me make that decision.
First, Brandy Walker for helping me set up the schedule and urging me to do it. It would not have happened without you.
I cannot ignore the fantastic cover art done by Kendra Egert. Even after I decided to do a different marketing plan, you stepped in and did the work, and my how lucky am I?
And of course, to Les and my girls, all four of them. I complain a lot but without you, I wouldn’t amount to much. Thank you for always believing in my dream.
Desire by Blood
Copyright © 2012 by Melissa Schroeder
Published by Melissa Schroeder
Electronic ISBN: 9780985447137
Edited by Chloe Vale
Cover by Kendra Egert
Formatting by Chloe Vale
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First electronic and print publication: September 2012
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Prologue
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
About Melissa Schroeder
Prologue
Late in Queen Victoria’s Reign
“He was Made?” Malik asked.
Nicodemus Blackburn did not look at his friend, but nodded and continued to clean the blood from beneath his fingernails. The only sound in the dank room was the splashing of water.
“How old?”
"I would say less than two months. Definitely not completely transitioned."
Silence. When Malik didn't respond, Nico glanced at him. The passive expression and cold gaze told Nico everything he needed to know. They had learned long ago Malik would be the whipping boy for every damned Made vampire.
"He was completely out of control. The woman..." Nico closed his eyes and swallowed back the fresh wave of nausea that threatened to bubble up. In five hundred years, he had never seen anything so brutal, so bestial. He had killed Mades before, but never happened upon one of their kills. He opened his eyes to find his friend with a knowing look on his face. "She did not die easily."
If possible, Malik's expression grew colder. "Meaning he raped her to death."
There was nothing to be said, for nothing would stop what was going to happen, what was already happening. Nico grabbed a linen cloth and started to dry his hands.
"We need to find out what the bloody hell is happening. This one had no connection to family. There has to be a reason for the Made vampires to be popping up all over the countryside."
Malik nodded. "I've heard more rumbling amongst the Borns. Not to mention the Carrier woman they found dead in London two nights ago. There might be trouble for my kind again."
Nico shrugged and retrieved another shirt. "I don't think you need to worry."
"Don't lie."
"You are always exempt from these witch hunts. You trace your roots back further than mine. Anyone who has made it through transition has no problem. They never lose control."
A cynical smile curved Malik's lips. "True. And so I shouldn't have to worry at all. But the youngest generation doesn't remember the Inquisition...they don't remember how many of us fought on your side. They will be out for blood—so to speak."
Nico faced him. Irritation and worry gripped his stomach in a cold, hard fist. What Malik said was true. Before the Inquisition, Borns regularly hunted for Mades, killing them before they gained control of their new powers. He could not defend what had happened in the past, only work to fix the present.
But that would come later. Nico could still smell the corpse’s blood on his body. If he closed his eyes, he could remember everything. The mutilation of the Carrier
woman. The sickening feel of shoving a piece of wood into the vampire’s flesh. The word Suprema still echoed in his ears.
It was worse than it had been almost four hundred years ago. God, he did not want to do that ever again. But he would...he knew that down to his core. There was no way to avoid it. If he allowed someone else to lead the hunt, it would become a massacre of every Made vampire in England.
He opened his eyes and looked at his best friend. They had seen the worst mankind could throw at them. Nico feared they were about to see things neither of them were prepared for.
“The trail leads to London,” Malik said.
“Yes. My father agrees.”
“Your father is the only family leader with any intelligence.”
True, for he was the oldest of the four family patriarchs that comprised the Vampire Alliance of England and Scotland.
“In father’s mind, he is the only one who matters. But, in this case, he is correct. London would be easier…the maker could resort to the lower classes, and it would not attract any attention.”
“Do you have any idea who it might be?”
Nico shook his head. “Not a clue. All I know is the sightings in the country have dwindled, and those clues we have found all lead to London.”
“I hate London.”
Nico smiled at his friend’s irritation. Both of them hated London, the ton, and all of their idiocy. But his father had asked him to go, and Nico could not refuse. "We go to London."
Malik studied him for a moment, and then nodded. "We go to London.”
Chapter One
He was avoiding her again.
Lady Cordelia Collingsworth searched through the milling crowd in the Smythe’s ballroom as irritation shot through her blood. This was the third night in a row she had lost him. The mysterious man was making it impossible to discover anything about him...or his shady businesses.
“Lady Cordelia.”
She grimaced before she could stop herself. Viscount Hurst. She had been dodging his steps at every event for the last fortnight. He always appeared at her side, a genial smile on his face and pretty compliments. Drat the man. She smoothed her expression and turned to face the viscount.
Cordelia understood why he had been labeled “The Catch” by the ladies of the ton early this season. Just thirty years old, he sported a strong physique. Blond hair and deep brown eyes had all the women sighing, or so she had been told. He was pleasant enough with that square jaw and all his proper manners, but there was something about him she did not like. Something that made her blood chill every time she came in contact with him. Even in the overwhelming heat of the ballroom, she could not seem to keep herself warm in Hurst’s presence.
He smiled down at her, and she fought the shiver of dread that raced along her flesh.
“I hope you are enjoying yourself tonight.”
She forced her lips to curve into a welcoming smile as she offered her hand. He bent over it. Even with her skin protected by gloves, the top of her hand grew cold. Bile rose in her throat as she watched him. Most women—especially women decidedly on the shelf and with no dowry—would kill to be this close to him. The idea that she wanted to flee whenever she spotted him made no sense.
“I always enjoy the Smythe’s ball. It is very amusing.” She tugged on her hand, twisting it to free it from his grasp. “And you, my lord?”
“I thought to ask for your hand in the next dance.” The moment he said it, the first strains of a waltz filled the massive ballroom. Dread filled her stomach. “I assume you are free?”
His smirk told Cordelia he knew she did not have one dance on her card. She rarely did. She was not on the marriage mart, far too old and poor to grab attention—except from the viscount. Now she regretted not securing a dance partner for the first waltz.
“I—”
“Lady Cordelia.” A strong masculine voice filled the air around her and sent a rush of heat along her nerve endings. Even without turning she knew who stood behind her. The man she had been chasing for three days straight. The man she was positive ran illegal businesses in London. The subject of her now-due article.
Nicodemus Blackburn.
She turned to face him, her heart beating hard against her breast. As blood rushed out of her head, she felt a bit lightheaded. Where the viscount and his patrician features were attractive in a very English-gentry way, Mr. Blackburn was dark and dangerous. If women sighed over the viscount, they fainted when Blackburn gave them his attention. Cordelia wanted to be the exception to that rule…but he was heady indeed.
“Yes, Mr. Blackburn?”
“I believe this is my dance.”
For a moment, she didn't respond. She couldn't. Her mind simply could not formulate a reply. Blackburn, who rarely danced and had been known for disdaining most of the ton, had just asked her to dance. No. He lied and said she had promised him the dance.
One black eyebrow rose as she said nothing. The curving of his lips was enough to pull her out of her trance.
She offered him her hand and turned to Hurst. “If you will excuse me, my lord.”
Hurst tossed Blackburn a nasty look before offering her a pleasant smile. “Of course. Perhaps the next waltz?”
She merely smiled but said nothing. Cordelia would make sure not to be in sight of the viscount again. Blackburn led her out to the floor and pulled her closer, swinging her into the rhythm of the dance. She drew in a deep breath. The scent of bay rum filled her senses. That lightheaded feeling returned.
“A bit of advice, my lady.”
She looked up at Blackburn, trying to keep her wits about her. Everyone sought information on this man, especially her editor who had told her to dig into his character and find out just where he got his money. There were more than a few rumors, one being he was a moneylender. And he was here, like a ripe peach for the picking. She had a list of questions memorized. Unfortunately, she found herself staring into his mesmerizing eyes and could not gather her wits long enough to ask him anything.
It was Blackburn’s fault. His attractiveness did not come from a trained valet who knew how to dress his employer. He possessed the most remarkable gray-blue eyes and blacker than midnight hair—worn ruthlessly short and not a strand out of place. He was put together well, solid. She could feel his muscles flex as he guided her through the waltz, maneuvering around couples with ease.
His attractiveness turned heads, but there was more to it than that. It was the strength she sensed beneath the surface of the polished veneer. Something about him, dangerous and male, seethed just beneath his polite façade. It almost made her giddy to be this close to him.
“Lady Cordelia?”
She blinked. “Yes? Oh, you had advice.”
“You should stay away from the viscount.”
She nodded at his comment. No, not truly a comment. A command. She didn’t know Blackburn, knew nothing of his family—and he only could know of the gossip surrounding hers. But for some unknown reason, he felt the need to tell her what to do. Of all the cheek!
“Whatever do you mean?”
His eyes flashed with irritation as they narrowed. “I mean the man is trouble. I fear that he is after but one thing in his pursuit of you.”
Where was the tact Blackburn was famous for? Everyone in the ton knew her situation, or thought they knew. It was much worse than she let people know, otherwise she would never be invited to these functions. And while everyone attending knew that her brother was drinking away her inheritance, none of them knew she was so close to living on the street.
People may gossip about her, but they did not do it in front of her. Did Blackburn realize he insulted her? Looking at his serious expression, she thought not. The man actually believed he was helping.
She adopted her most innocent look. “What would that be, Mr. Blackburn?”
His expression blanked as he studied her. “I beg your pardon. I was led to believe you were somewhat of a...”
“What, sir?”
> Oh, he did not like being put in the corner, but she was happy to shove the man there. The gall of him to insult her so. Granted, she was positive Hurst was after her for the reason Blackburn implied, though even that was odd because the viscount could have his choice of most women of the ton—married and unmarried. Why would he want the Lady Fionna's bastard daughter, who had no dowry and a penchant for books? His pursuit made little sense. But most men of the ton had little sense.
With an aggravated sigh, he maneuvered them through the French doors and out onto the patio. Light from the ballroom spilled over them as the cool night air hit her skin, chilling her anger and desire.
Blackburn hesitated, then released her. The dark night surrounded them, the tension in the air rising. She walked away from him to the edge of the terrace. “Why ever are we out here?”
When he did not answer, she turned to face him. He placed a hand on each of his hips and frowned at her. Again. “Stop playing the simpleton.”
She blinked. “Playing?”
“Lord Hurst is not a well man.”
That was not what she expected to hear. She dropped all pretenses. “Not well?”
He hesitated. “There have been rumors about him.”
“Indeed. There are rumors about almost every eligible man here tonight, including you.”
He nodded in acknowledgement. “He has certain...tastes that would shock you.”
“Do you mean he frequents the House of Rod?”
That had his eyebrows rising. “You know of that?”
“Why do you think I accepted your dance? I didn't have to. After eight years in the ton, I am well aware of how men behave. I know there is something wrong with the viscount.”
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