Dark Studies (Arcaneology)

by C. P. Foster

  Table of Contents

  ~ Look for these titles from C. P. Foster ~

  Copyright Warning

  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

  ~ About the Author ~

  ~ Also by C. P. Foster ~

  ~ More Fantasy from Etopia Press ~

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  Dark Studies

  Arcaneology Book One

  C. P. Foster

  Copyright Warning

  EBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared, or given away. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is a crime punishable by law. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded to or downloaded from file sharing sites, or distributed in any other way via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/).

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Published By

  Etopia Press

  1643 Warwick Ave., #124

  Warwick, RI 02889

  http://www.etopia-press.net

  Dark Studies

  Copyright © 2013 by C. P. Foster

  ISBN: 978-1-940223-13-1

  Edited by Nancy Cassidy

  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 Etopia Press electronic publication: June 2013

  Chapter One

  You have to be a little crazy to go into arcaneology. The strict definition of the word is the study of secrets, but there’s more to it than that. You’re ferreting out the secrets of other species, supernatural beings far more powerful than humans. Indiana Jones was a lightweight in comparison.

  —Professor Anthony Benotti, PhD

  She always chose a neutral meeting place, one that gave her clients no information about who she was or where she might later be found. To them, Angie presented herself as a blank slate. The less they knew, the more they were free to imagine.

  “What have you been told about me?” she asked.

  Sitting across from her, Steffen Scott thought a moment before answering.

  “I understand you have certain specialized skills. You provide your services to only a select clientele. Our mutual acquaintance suggested you might have something to offer me, and that I might meet your standards, if I am fortunate.” His lips curled a bit at one corner. It had been a long time, she suspected, since he had worried about meeting the standards of a human, or anyone at all for that matter.

  “I assume you’ve had me vetted. You know I deliver on what I promise.” She smoothed back a strand of light brown hair.

  “I am told you are exceptional.”

  She nodded to accept the compliment. “James vouches for your ability to remain in control when pushed to the edge. Are you sure that’s what you want? To go to the edge and enjoy something close to the real thing but without the ultimate fulfillment?”

  “You mean without killing you.”

  “Without overstepping the ground rules we negotiate. Not killing me would be at the top of the list.”

  Angie paused to sip the crisp white wine she had ordered while waiting for him to arrive. Her potential client studied her with the affectless expression of one who is very old and rarely surprised by anything human or otherwise. Did he recognize her? This was her greatest fear, that despite all the plastic surgery, despite everything she had changed about herself in the last twelve years, he might see through it and know she was once a girl named Sarah Miller. Of all the vampires with whom she did business, he was the most likely to guess the truth. She almost hadn’t agreed to this meeting, but curiosity had gotten the better of her. This would be the definitive test of her transformation.

  A waitress made her way to their table and asked Scott what he wished to order. She looked him over, clearly appreciating what she saw, and Angie couldn’t blame her. Shaggy, bloodred hair framed a face that must have been pale even before he was turned and spilled just past the tops of his broad shoulders. His eyes were blue but so light they were nearly translucent. He responded without giving the woman a glance, and she moved away.

  In answer to Angie’s question, he said, “If you can give me something close to what I once knew, then yes. I want it.”

  A predatory stare belied his casual tone. Her heart rate sped up a few beats, and she knew there was no hiding it from him. Nor did she wish to. She would not have chosen this line of work if it did not resonate with something deep inside her, and she wanted the vampire to know her response was as real as his. The dance of hunter and hunted would only satisfy him if she was truly engaged in it.

  In her peripheral vision, she saw some of the other customers in the bar turn to watch him. They could not hear the conversation—subtle architectural details made the booth nearly soundproof, at least to human ears—so they must have felt the thrill of danger radiating from him. Not everyone looked his way, though.

  At a nearby table sat a girl who was surely too young to be in such a place. Angie’s focus shifted to her as a vampire toyed with the top button of the girl’s shirt. Her eyes were glazed, the pupils dilated. Her suitor took her hand, and they rose, moving toward the back hallway. As they passed the booth, Scott made a subtle gesture. The creature froze in his tracks.

  “My Lord,” he blurted. “I—”

  “Didn’t expect to find me here? It seems my people have neglected this place.”

  Scott stood. At more than six and a half feet tall, he towered over the other vampire. To Angie, he murmured, “Take care of the girl.” Then he put a hand on the vampire’s shoulder and walked him out of the lounge. Another vampire rose to follow them. He had the build of a professional wrestler, and he nodded to someone sitting by the front door. Glancing around, Angie discovered another like him, his gaze constantly scanning the room. Interesting. She couldn’t recall Scott having a security detail before, but then she hadn’t seen him in, what, eleven years? Many things could change in that amount of time.

  In the silence that fell over the room, they all heard the sound of the back door closing.

  Once her charge was in a cab headed home, Angie returned to the booth, where she found Scott wiping his fingers with a cocktail napkin. She glimpsed red smudges before he crumpled it and set
it aside. The way he scrutinized the bartender made her shiver. Entrancing a human was the legal equivalent of using a date-rape drug. A business that overlooked such things could cause trouble for the vampire community, trouble the Lord of a province would not tolerate. Governing the entire Puget Sound area meant he had to keep a tight rein over the thousands of vampires living there.

  As she slipped into her seat, his attention shifted back to her. His mouth was set in a thin line, and his gaze chilled her. It took an effort of will to maintain her calm expression and posture. The two of them did not speak until his drink had been served, a stemmed balloon glass of blood, heated to human body temperature. Bars such as this, which catered to vampires, kept bottles of it in stock and charged exorbitant rates because the donors were paid well for their services. Its coppery smell drifted across the table to blend with the sweeter scent of white wine. When they were assured of privacy, he said, “Did I pass the test?”

  One of her brows quirked upward. “If you’re suggesting that was prearranged, it wasn’t. Though I did watch to see how you responded.”

  “And?”

  “And I’m still here.” She waited until the anger in his expression faded before she went on. “What else do you need to know, Lord Scott?”

  He placed his forearms on the table and leaned in, making her more conscious of his bulk. “I need to know your requirements. And whether I meet them.”

  She set aside her glass. “First, the financial details. You have your statement?”

  From the back pocket of his jeans he withdrew an envelope and tossed it onto the table. She took out the papers inside and studied them. Then she replaced them in the envelope and returned it. “If you aren’t satisfied, there are no refunds.”

  “Has anyone ever asked for one?”

  “No.”

  She was sure of it, now. He did not recognize her. Angie picked up her wine for another sip.

  “What else?” he demanded.

  Angie lowered her eyelids a degree and lifted one corner of her mouth. “You meet the next requirement easily enough; there is some chemistry between us. But I doubt you were concerned on that score.”

  He smiled, the first real smile she’d seen from him, and gave her a lazy head-to-toe look, taking in the modestly cut skirt and sweater, plain gold jewelry, and hair that hung straight down her back. Like the location of their meeting, her understated appearance gave the client as little information as possible. There was nothing overtly sexual about it, only a sensuality that hinted at the potential for more.

  “Not particularly,” he said. “Likewise, I doubt you were concerned about your own appeal, Ms. Devereaux.”

  “Please, call me Angeline.”

  “Angeline.” He rolled the word through his mouth, as if to explore its shape. She forgot to breathe for a moment. He saw it, and his smile widened. “Very well, Angeline. You may call me Steffen.”

  Angie put down her glass and mirrored his posture, resting her forearms on the table and leaning toward him. “Shall we begin negotiations?”

  “Let’s.”

  His body shifted. A sense of power emanated from him, not supernatural, but rather the charisma and intent of an animal cornering its prey. As though nothing she did would escape him, not the smallest twitch of skin or the faintest stir of breath, and certainly not the way her heart again changed its rhythm.

  “First,” she said, “I understand your control has limits. I won’t do anything foolish. No silver. No stakes. But I will try to hurt you. I will not play fair, and I will not hold back, because I’ll be fighting for my life. You will terrify me into mindless instinct. You’ll get a real hunt.”

  He went still. “Go on.”

  “You may hurt me, as long as you do not leave permanent scars or cause damage that takes more than a few weeks to heal on my own. Using your blood to heal me if you overstep your bounds is not an option. You may mark me anywhere except my face. You may not use entrancement for any reason. If you do, I’ll find out. It always leaves a trace, and I know what to look for.”

  She didn't tell him that she was immune to entrancement. If he learned that, all of the plastic surgery in the world wouldn’t prevent him from realizing who she was. Angie paused, gauging his reaction. He just continued to stare. “I know I’m asking a lot. I offer myself as a victim, and in order to make that real for you, it must be real for me. I will be out of control. It is up to you to remain in control for both of us. To make sure neither of us does serious harm. Do you understand?”

  “You play a dangerous game.”

  “That is why I am extremely selective. And expensive.” She raised her chin, bringing her lips nearer his. “You may take my mouth or my vagina, but nothing else. Since vampires don’t carry human diseases and cannot get a human pregnant, I do not require condoms. You may torture and feed on me, as long as you stay within the boundaries I have laid out.”

  A fine tremor went through him. Steffen clenched his hands into fists, but otherwise did not move. Angie watched until she was satisfied he had his instincts under control.

  “Are these conditions acceptable?” she asked softly.

  He inclined his head just enough to give his answer.

  “Then let’s talk about what you want. I can offer a variety of scenarios, play whatever role you wish. Do you have something in mind?”

  Steffen drew back, finally, giving himself some distance from her, and she eased back as well.

  “I have an idea,” he said, and told her.

  Chapter Two

  Blood is meat and potatoes for a vampire, but who wants to live on meat and potatoes when they can have spices and sauces, fruits and vegetables, butter and cream? Violence, terror, humiliation, sadism, the thrill of the hunt—these are what give a vampire’s meal flavor. The blood is bland without them.

  —Dr. Elisha Lynn, Vampire Psychiatrist, PhD, MD

  In her years of studying and living among vampires, Angie had learned what they wanted most. They longed for the old days, when they could give in to their true desires and hunt down their prey without regard for human laws. Feeding in the modern age was a dance of persuasion, convincing humans to freely give their life’s blood, but this went against a vampire’s instincts.

  What she offered her clients was not the real thing, but it was as close as they could get without repercussions. They had to abide by certain rules. That was what made her role-playing different from true rape and torture. She enjoyed her work, but the real thing was a far different matter. While the hunt was not the only service she offered, it was the most popular.

  For Steffen Scott she would play the part of prey that had separated itself from the herd. In his youth, this scenario would have probably taken place in a forest, but tonight he’d chosen the urban jungle.

  Angie parked her car in the location they had agreed upon for his fantasy, then closed her eyes to concentrate. She had to put aside her own personality and take on the role she’d created for this session: a party girl named Tina, much younger and less experienced with supernatural predators. Her imagination conjured images of dance clubs, frat parties, fruity drinks with umbrellas, flirting, and the occasional drunken one-night stand. When she’d submerged herself into the role, she got out of the car.

  Tina raised the hood of her stalled vehicle and scowled at the jumble of machinery underneath. None of the dashboard lights had come on; the thing had just stopped running. There was nothing she could do but call a tow truck. She fished a cell phone out of her purse, only to find she’d forgotten to charge the battery. What was she going to do? Public phones had gone the way of the dinosaur. She saw no other people. This was an old warehouse district, hardly busy even during the day. At night it was a ghost town. There was no option but to start walking and hope for the best.

  The sound of her high heels echoed against concrete sidewalks and brick buildings. Streetlamps provided bubbles of light that turned dirty windows into mirrors. The cold air made her breath visible, and she h
ugged her arms around her, wishing now she hadn’t worn such a short skirt. At least there was no rain or wind.

  Yet something riffled her hair. Tina paused, thinking perhaps a breeze had begun to pick up, but everything remained perfectly still. No movement. No sound.

  It happened again.

  She spun around. Something flashed in her peripheral vision, but no matter how quickly she turned, she could never quite see what it was. Then a low voice spoke from behind her.

  “Run.”

  Her scream shredded the air. Despite the heels, she was fast, adrenaline pumping through her blood, muscular legs forcing her short skirt to ride higher as she sprinted all out.

  One second, there was nothing but empty street ahead, the next she slammed into a body as hard as stone. The impact stunned her. She scrambled away, managing to regain her footing despite the fact that she’d literally been knocked out of her shoes. Twisting around, she ran blindly in another direction. A hand gripped her arm, yanking her back, and she kicked at a shin, stomped on a foot, swung her elbow—all of the things she’d been taught to do in self-defense seminars. He laughed and let go. Before she could get a single step away, he caught hold of her neck and hauled her against him.

  Cold lips touched her ear. “Tell me, human. Are you afraid?”

  Angie went still, inside and out. A ferocious rush of emotion made her shudder. The girl she portrayed felt fear in spades, but beneath the character flowed a current of excitement. It was like coming over the top of the rise on a roller coaster and starting to speed down the slope. A scream of sheer exhilaration began in the back of her throat. She cut it off and writhed, her entire body twisting and straining for any weak point in his grip. Kicking both legs into the air, she jerked downward with the pull of gravity and landed on her back at his feet. Immediately, he crouched over her, his arms and legs a cage.