Seduction's Bite

by Madison Layle

  * * *

  Cobblestone Press

  www.cobblestone-press.com

  Copyright ©2008 by Madison Layle

  First published in 2008

  * * *

  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

  * * *

  CONTENTS

  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

  Author Bio

  * * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Seduction's Bite

  Copyright© 2008 Madison Layle

  ISBN: 978-1-60088-252-4

  Cover Artist: Croco Designs

  Editor: Barbara Louise

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  Cobblestone Press, LLC

  www.cobblestone-press.com

  Chapter One

  "Her cry would wake the dead."

  "Shh...” Cheyenne Logan glanced over her shoulder and, with a smile, whispered, “So that's why you huddled under the covers when the monitor picked up her crying?"

  She placed their sleeping daughter back in the crib and slid her nightgown strap back into place. Early morning feedings wreaked havoc on her sleep, but she wouldn't change a thing.

  Her husband slid his hand around her middle and up to cup her breasts. His whiskered chin rested on her shoulder as he gazed into the crib.

  "I didn't have what she wanted,” he murmured by way of explanation.

  She chuckled softly. “Coward."

  He knew as well as she did that they kept pumped breast milk in the fridge.

  He spun her around, making her grin. “Damn straight,” he admitted without an ounce of regret showing on his handsome face. “I'm outnumbered now and, between the two of you, I've already lost the battle. I'm hopelessly lost...” He kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, and her chin, pausing to hover a breath from her grinning lips. “...in love with you both."

  His kiss was slow and sensuous, deadly to her equilibrium. She wrapped her arms around his neck, running her fingers into his thick hair even while he delved deeper into her mouth with his tongue.

  A soft moan escaped her throat, and he pulled back. “Shh,” he whispered with a teasing smile.

  She smirked.

  He took her hand and tilted his head toward the hallway, his silent suggestion obvious. She nodded and, pausing to pull the door almost closed, she noticed the sheer curtain flare and thought about shutting the second-story window, but decided the morning was too pleasant. A little fresh air would keep the room from becoming too stuffy.

  Her husband tugged her hand, so she followed him down the hall to their bedroom.

  Turning around, he drew her against his chest and slow-danced his way toward the bed, which made her chuckle. He nipped the side of her neck, spun her out in a twirl. Her chuckle transformed into a laugh at his playfulness. It wasn't every night a girl danced with a sexy man in his briefs. She let her gaze drop over a hard abdomen to the bulge of his erect cock and felt her blood race as she reached to remove the barrier of cloth.

  A sudden baby's cry.

  A stranger's hiss.

  They both looked at the nursery monitor, alarm dousing all sense of arousal.

  "Stay here,” he ordered before running unarmed toward their daughter's room.

  Like hell. She ran after him.

  Her whole body shook—

  "Anne! Wake up!"

  Cheyenne jackknifed, struggling with the bed covers—the dream, the nightmare, still fresh in her mind.

  "It's not real. You were asleep,” Valerie said, trying to reassure her, but the words held no comfort.

  It was real. Waking to find herself in her sister-in-law's spare bedroom was proof enough that her life had forever changed six years earlier.

  Panting, she collapsed backwards and brushed her friend's hands away. “I'm okay, Val."

  "You sure?” She didn't look convinced.

  Cheyenne swiped a hand over her face and discovered her brow moist and cool. She glanced at the bedside clock. Almost midnight. Damn it!

  She tossed back the sheets and scrambled out of bed. “You should've woken me up."

  Valerie stepped out of the way. “I thought that's what I just did."

  "You know what I mean. The night's half gone.” She sat, rolled to her back, and kicked both feet in the air, yanking her black cargo pants on with one quick pull. Back on her feet, she hopped from one foot to the other as she tugged on her combat boots before lacing them up.

  "You need a good night's sleep and some sunlight,” Val said, giving Cheyenne's admittedly pale form the once over as if to prove a point. “All of this nocturnal behavior isn't good for you."

  She ignored Val's warning, finished dressing, and slid a blade in a sheath strapped to her thigh. A second knife went on her other thigh, a third in a holder under her left arm.

  "Why don't you take tonight off, huh? Get some rest. Maybe spend a normal day with me and your nephews. You need it."

  Cheyenne paused, thought of her brother's boys sleeping just across the hall, and shook her head. “I can't. You know that. If I did, more could die."

  "You can't save everyone. And you could die, too, you know.” Piqued, Val added, “It's too soon, Anne. You can't keep driving yourself so hard. You're not immortal."

  I'd welcome death. But not before she turned some more killers to ashes.

  "No, I'm not,” she admitted, thinking to herself that neither were they. “But I can't stop, not as long as there's breath left in my body.” If she quit now, the deaths in her family, the loss of all she'd held dear, would be for nothing.

  She closed her eyes, trying to loosen the knot in her gut, lessen the pain that still throbbed in her chest at the memories. Inhaling deeply, she checked the last of her gear, grabbed her long, black jacket, and headed for the door.

  Val blocked her path. “Then put your experience to greater use. Use all of those speaking engagements you do to recruit others. Train them like Mark trained you. Let them go out and do the fighting."

  "I tried letting someone else do this for me. Remember? And Mark died because of it."

  Val's eyes glistened at the mention of her husband's name, but her lips thinned into a stubborn line. “You didn't let him do anything. He fought because he didn't want us or you harmed. He only let you go along with the video camera because he knew he couldn't force you to stay home."

  "That's not true.” Although she denied it, she suspected part of what Val said was true. She frowned. She'd opened Mark's eyes to the dangers that lay just inside the shadows, dangers that could touch his family as much as they had destroyed her own. He couldn't prevent her from putting herself in harm's way, so he'd done the same ... and she'd never forgive herself for that. “He knew I could
fight, that I'd have to eventually; that's why he taught me everything he knew.” It was supposed to be safer, fighting side-by-side. It should've been...

  Tears slid down Val's cheek. “He taught you so you'd have a slim chance of surviving should something go wrong. And it did go wrong."

  "Exactly! I let him down...” The weight of her guilt was more than Cheyenne could bear. She broke, her tears bursting forth in heart-broken sobs. “It's ... all ... my fault!"

  She still didn't understand why Val even remained a friend. She wouldn't have blamed her brother's widow if she'd refused all contact after the funeral. But that had never been Val's way.

  "No. Shh.” Val grabbed her arm, her voice softer, more coaxing. Although Val tried to hide it, Cheyenne recognized the pain in her tone as well. “You didn't kill Mark. A vampire did. None of this is your fault, but it is time to let it go before it destroys you. You're the only one of his family my boys have left. Live for them."

  "I can't.” She shook her head.

  "You can! It's been six years, Anne."

  Cheyenne winced at Val's use of the nickname her brother had given her, the same name her husband had always used.

  Six years. It still seemed like yesterday she'd lost her husband and child, as recent as her own brother's murder ... also at the hands of a monster she should've been strong enough to stop.

  "When is it going to be enough?"

  Never. She paused and stared at her friend, one of only two people who ever believed her after...

  "When every last vampire is dead, then ... I can rest."

  * * * *

  Kieran Duboix knelt inside the small, intricately carved confessional. Bowing his head, he thumbed the golden cross that hung on a chain around his neck.

  "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned ... a lot."

  "With how many women this time, Kieran?” the priest asked from the other side of the curtain, exasperation already evident in his patronizing tone.

  Leave it to Father Hardwin to always cut to the chase. Kieran couldn't prevent the smile that pulled at his lips, but he did manage to mute it enough that his fangs wouldn't show. They weren't fully extended—they only did that when he was feeding or aroused. Yet, even retracted his were a bit longer and sharper than normal human eyeteeth, so he practiced hiding such traits when possible.

  "Three, Father. It's been...” He glanced at his watch. “...exactly twenty-four hours since my last confession."

  "You bedded three women in one night?"

  "They were triplets,” he said, his smile broadening into a full-fanged grin. “And we didn't exactly stop at sunup."

  "Your lust knows no bounds, my child. You are aware that you must be penitent to seek forgiveness of your sins?"

  Even though Father Hardwin was decades younger—more like centuries younger—his use of ‘my child’ always made Kieran feel as if he were an unruly kid facing his father's disapproving glare.

  Kieran took a deep breath and nodded. “I know I'm damned, but you can't fault a vampire for trying."

  He heard the priest leave the confessional.

  Hurrying to catch up, he matched the priest's pace before he whispered, “I'm sorry, Father."

  The priest kept walking. “We've all sinned, Kieran. You're no more damned than the rest of mankind. But for the grace of God and the blood of our Lord and Savior—"

  "I know, Father. Forgive me. I don't mean to make light of this at all, and I am trying to behave. It's just ... I have to retain some reason for living this long, and I can't think of a better one than the love of a beautiful woman, or two ... or three."

  Father Hardwin stopped and faced him, his eyes kind yet serious. “Such lusts are not the same as love. Do not mistake one for another."

  Solemn-faced, Kieran nodded at the priest's logic. After all, the man was right. Sex wasn't love. Kieran didn't doubt that, since he knew from experience that sex was pleasurable, and love was ... heart-wrenchingly painful.

  With a sigh, the priest took a seat in a pew and motioned for Kieran to join him. “You've been given a gift, my child. Do not waste it on frivolous pursuits."

  "A dark gift I didn't want,” he snapped, then immediately closed his eyes and pressed his lips together. He hadn't meant to sound harsh. It was just very hard to see what he considered a curse as a gift of any kind. When he spoke again, his tone was softer, more pained. “I didn't ask for this."

  The aging priest patted Kieran's hand. “It is not for me to say why God has chosen you to bear such a burden, but chose you, He did ... and for good reason. Because you did not seek it, you proved yourself worthy of having it."

  Fighting off the urge to shake his head, Kieran sat back and stared at the large crucifix on a nearby wall. God hadn't chosen him on that dark night long ago; a vampire had.

  "I've heard this all before. My soul is intact because I wasn't greedy.” Not that he could imagine any sane person wanting to become a monster for the chance to retain a semblance of youth. “Lucky me.” He failed to hide his sarcasm.

  He glanced at the mortal priest, his friend. The priest and his predecessors had been Kieran's closest confidants ever since one had found Kieran newly changed and suicidal on the steps of the church more than a century before.

  "That still doesn't change the fact that I should be a corpse rotting inside a tomb instead of living to fight another day."

  "Be that as it may, it's your fight that gives the rest of us hope. Think of the many lives you've saved over the years ... the decades."

  It was an old argument—one Kieran had had with Father Hardwin's predecessors before him. And in the early years, it had worked. Kieran had been given a reason to live as a vampire, dedicated to kill others like him who'd gone too far and let the dark lusts consume them, to prevent other humans from being forced into such a living death against their will.

  Not all vampires were bad. Oh, they all drank blood, but many of the myths were untrue or greatly exaggerated over time. Vampires, those like Kieran, were strong enough to control the bloodlust. They took only enough blood to sate the hunger; a few swallows from a fresh donor was usually enough to last a day or two.

  But some drank until the victim's heart stopped. Legend had it—and Kieran knew for certain—that if a vampire continued to drink until the heart stopped, until the vamp tasted death, it caused a drug-like high. A rush that was temporary but very addictive. It turned mild-mannered vampires into cannibalistic killers called the Horde.

  But for a twist of fate, Kieran could've been one of them. Instead, he'd joined a league of fellow vampires under oath to never succumb to such a temptation. Together, they fought the Horde, their battles sheltered by the darkness of night. It was the only way to protect the human race and indirectly, the vampire one as well.

  Through the centuries, the war did not go unnoticed. Eventually, a small group of human witnesses discovered the truth and formed an Order tasked to assist in the control and destruction of the rogue vampire Horde. Father Hardwin, like his predecessors before him, was a member of that clandestine Order.

  "Come,” the priest said. “I've something to show you."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Two

  Father Hardwin took a seat at his wooden desk, pushed a few keys on his computer, and moved the mouse. His office was small and cluttered, but in a neat and orderly manner. Evidence of the man's more scholarly pursuits lay in stacks about the room.

  Kieran approached and looked over his shoulder at the screen. “What is it?"

  "Watch."

  As he did, a black square on screen came to life, the video showing a poorly lit alley, the concrete path damp and strewn with trash. Amid the typical sounds of city traffic, faint music played, its origin close but unknown. The image moved, jostled as if the videographer held the recorder rather than using a tripod.

  "What—"

  "Patience,” the priest chided. “Here it comes."

  A soft, recorded voice whispered, “Ready
,” identifying the speaker as female. “Come on, you bastard. Take the bait."

  Kieran narrowed his eyes, his attention captured. Curious. A drunk, layered in worn clothes with a hood up, turned the corner, stumbling against the wall. His bottle of alcohol slipped from his grasp. He'd taken several shuffling steps into the darker shadows of the alley when a silhouetted figure appeared at the end.

  "Vampire,” Kieran murmured.

  The attack was fast but did not go as expected.

  The drunk wasn't as intoxicated as he first appeared. He spun without a second to spare. In his hand, a sharp stake had replaced the bottle.

  The vampire's own momentum brought him into striking range, and by then it was too late. The victim-turned-attacker dispatched him with a fierce and fatal thrust to the chest.

  A demonic wail screeched from the computer speakers, and the vampire crystallized into an orange, glowing statue of ash only to crumble as the human pulled the stake back.

  The feminine voice returned, the sound breathy but otherwise emotionless. “Another vampire vanquished."

  "Where'd you get this? Who is that?” Kieran asked, taking a seat to the side of the desk.

  "It's one of many such videos that have been posted to the Internet in recent years by a blogger—"

  "You read blogs?"

  The priest raised one eyebrow. “I am not so ancient that I cannot adapt to new technology. Now pay attention. The blogger claims to be the one recording evidence of vampires."

  "The woman."

  Father Hardwin nodded. “She never identifies herself or the vampire slayer by name, but—"

  "What about law enforcement?"

  He frowned at the interruption. “They've shown little interest. Not surprising considering...” He let his words drift away as Kieran realized the reason.

  No bodies. Kieran glanced at the frozen image on the screen. “Ashes to ashes."

  "Some analysts claim the videos are the product of an ingenious illusionist out to make a name for himself. Others who believe the videos are real ... Well, I'll admit the blog and Web site have developed somewhat of a cult following."