Hearts Unleashed: A Limited Edition Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Collection

by C. D. Gorri

“NO!” She kicked her feet into the air and struggled against the brute force. She threw her head back and connected with something, but the blow caused her vision to see spots. The man who held her backed up into something, a door? He walked them inside and kicked it closed with his foot.

  Sophia looked around as she struggled and found masks of all shapes and sizes, from jesters to horror stricken, beautiful to grotesque. The masks lined the walls so thickly it sent a sensation of dread through her. Fear spiked adrenaline through her body and she screamed out, “RELEASE ME!”

  The man finally released her and she took steps away from him. Her fingers felt along the wall in hopes of a weapon, only to find the guises. She dared not take her eyes from his for he might disappear again, then reappear behind her, beside her, somewhere, and when he’s had his fun, kill her.

  “What do you want of me?” she cried out.

  In a slow movement, the man held his hands out in a position of surrender, maybe peace. “I do not wish to harm you,” he said in a lowered tone.

  Her eyes widened. She recognized his voice. Could it be him? The man from the other night? He brought a single hand up and removed his mask, then raised his eyes to hers.

  She still could not see him clearly as the cloak covered his head. She tilted her head slightly. “Who are you?”

  He pushed the cloak cover back and she gasped. It was him! Her heartbeat quickened in his presence and her lips opened slightly. She gazed at him, her eyes lingering on his for a long moment. Were they not ablaze with fire? She slowly drifted down his body to his chest, to his stomach, to the area below his pelvis. She felt this part of him press into her the other night. She would be a fool to not admit it thrilled her. She continued on to his feet, then back up to his eyes once more.

  The man took a step toward her as she, in turn, stepped back. As she did a moment ago, his eyes drifted down her body, then back up to her once more.

  “Who are you?” he asked in a hushed tone.

  She raised her brow and lifted her chin as if in defiance. “No. I need answers first.”

  He reached for her but she ducked from his grasp. His footfall brought him closer and she sidestepped him once more. It was almost as if they were dancing. Well, that would be the case if they were mutual to the task, but herein, no.

  “Who are you?” he asked once more.

  “Who I am should be of no consequence to you. But pray tell, who might you be?” She backed from him once more. The man lifted the corner of his lips in what appeared to be a smirk. He glanced to the ground, then back to her once more. He held himself in a grace that made him appear superior to other males; even Gavin and the elder hunters.

  He quickly darted toward Sophia and pressed his palms to her shoulders, thrusting her against the wall of masks. She gasped and stared into his eyes. Neither blinked. Both panted for air as if the tension between them were that of humid air, quickly turning into water.

  She looked away first and her sight landed on a grotesque guise that sent a chill up her spine in the most unpleasant way. She bit her lip and closed her eyes. Opening them once more, she glanced to the man in the cloak. He began to lean into her and finding space under his arm, she quickly ducked away, removing herself from between him and the wall.

  He leaned into it, then looked to her over his shoulder. He grinned, and it was magnificent. She found herself wanting to smile, though instead, she lowered her gaze. As she looked up once more, he moved toward her and she sidestepped. He lunged with a grin, she ran to the side and let off a small giggle.

  Never would she consider this cat and mouse game fun, but he did not appear to be a threat. At least not yet. She bounded once more to the side and as she did, the man moved fast, inhumanly fast. Before she realized what had happened, he caught her in his arms. They faced each other, her breasts pressed firmly against his own chest.

  “You still have not answered me,” he told her. Longing flashed his features so quickly, she wondered if she had imagined it.

  She tried to wiggle herself free to no avail. “Release me, please.”

  “No, not until you answer my question.”

  She sighed. “At least, please, tell me your name first?”

  Sadness touched his eyes then, and his lips quivered. The strength around her body loosened, and he released her. He took a step back and reaching with a hand, he rubbed the back of his neck.

  Confused, she took a step forward, then hesitated. “Please,” she whispered. “What is your name?” Should we know one another? Had we met once upon a time? No, surely I would remember this man.

  “Perhaps,” he began and looked up to her with a devilish stare, “this will help you remember.” He lunged for her once more and captured her face in his hands. He tilted her head up and pressed his lips to hers. She pushed against his chest and tried to pry him away. She pressed harder and harder, then he growled. She gasped against his lips and one of his arms circled around her waist, thrusting her closer, his other hand grasping her by the back of her neck.

  She curled her hands around his biceps and allowed herself to give into this man, give into the passion. She whimpered against his lips and moved her hands to his neck. She wanted him as much as he wanted her.

  Feeling the push against her body to move back, Sophia followed his lead until the wall found her and they stopped. He moved his hands to her waist and he lifted her up, thrusting her body against the wall. The force of it sent masks falling to the floor in a clatter. She sighed into his mouth as his tongue traces her lips. She lifted and wrapped one leg around his waist. The man reached for the other and wrapped his hand around her knee, then used his body weight to hold her.

  The kiss broke long enough for her to gasp for air. She stared into his eyes, then to his lips, those amazing lips, ready to kiss her once more.

  He took her chin in his hands and stared at her for an even longer moment. “What was I thinking? Paint and cloth could never capture your essence.” He tilted her head to the side. He kissed her jawline to her ear, then to the neck. His tongue teased the area between her collarbone and earlobe. She hissed and her legs tightened around him. The man pressed his erection into her and a soft moan emitted from his lips.

  “What?” she whispered to his statement. She closed her eyes as his tongue slipped up the side of her neck. She bit her lip to keep herself from moaning as heat pulsed between her legs that longed for the man to be inside her.

  Then as quickly as it began, it ended. He pulled away abruptly and set her down, then took a step back. He growled and quickly turned toward the door.

  “What,” she whispered and cleared her throat. Her heart wanted to beat out of her chest and her sex, my gods her sex throbbed in a way she had never experienced. She squeezed her legs together in an effort to extinguish the fire he managed to light. “What is it?” She wanted him back to her, wanted him to continue to kiss her, and more, yes, she wanted more.

  Then she looked to the ground, to the masks that had fallen. A few were still in one piece, and a few others did not survive the impact. Someone would surely come looking…

  “Will the maker be returning?” she asked in the silence of the room. She half expected an answer. Would the man throw them on the streets? Surely not a man of his nobility. No one would have the audacity…

  Then as if the moment slapped her in the face, she looked up to the man as he turned to face her. She could not believe she allowed herself to be taken advantage of in this way. She had no idea who he was, yet, here they were. He took a few steps toward her and she held up a hand.

  “No! You shall remain your grounds, sir. I will not be taken advantage of in this way! If you refuse to answer one simple question, then I refuse to have any more of this…this moment with you.”

  She raised her chin high and held her ground.

  He sighed and lowered his gaze, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Dorian. My name is Dorian, but,” he looked up to her. His gaze somber, saddened. “This is all I can giv
e you.”

  She stared at him, the sadness in his eyes pulling at the strings of her heart. But why? “Well, it is good to have a name, but, I am afraid, my dear Dorian, it is not enough.” She lowered her gaze and hurried past him, out the door and into the rapidly-falling night. Fear gripped her, although it had nothing to do with the burning eyes she saw earlier, but more with the burning of her heart.

  Chapter Eleven

  Fanti was cunning in the hunt.

  He was so different from Dorian. His careful handling of victims was nothing like Dorian’s indulgence in a debauchery of blood, feeding in a ruthless, ecstatic frenzy. He became a magnificent god of destruction, smeared in living scarlet with ruby eyes.

  Dorian and Fanti did share a sense of caution that bordered on paranoia. Mila appreciated it as the only thing that kept them safe from discovery. She emulated their watchful carefulness in her own hunting, whether she was alone or with another vampire. Constant vigilance had saved her more than once, and she was loath to trust anyone else to be as attentive as herself.

  Fanti had proven himself the exception to her rule. If anything, he was a shade more fanatical than her in taking precautions, and he was unfailingly considerate and courteous to her. Mila gave herself over to his care and guidance for the hunt that night. It was an unheard-of indulgence for her, but she couldn’t help luxuriating a little in having both a guide and guard who had a vested interest in protecting his territory.

  “Do you see anything you like, my sweet?” he asked as they drifted along the shadowy edges of a campo where a boisterous celebration in a tavern spilled over into the square.

  She lifted her face and took in the scents on the air. Heavy wine, sharp cheese, and drippings from roasted meat. Sandalwood oil, sweat, piss, and rose water.

  “That one.” She tucked away her thoughts and let the hunter’s instinct wash over her. She didn’t want to dwell on the fact she had chosen a young one tonight. Only madness came from trying to imagine the lives of victims. She didn’t want to know if the youth was an apprentice to some trade, or if he had a sweetheart, or if he believed in the Blessed Virgin and all the saints.

  All she knew is that she wanted the smooth skin and liquid eyes of either a woman or a youth. No one with a beard or stubble. Not a man in his prime, either, with muscles to fight her and a cock to press against her hips as she sent him into a final paroxysm of pleasure immediately before draining the last drop of blood.

  No one that could remind her of Gavin and the way he would hate her if he truly knew what she was.

  “He is quite sweet,” Fanti commented approvingly, nodding in the youth’s direction. “Fresh-faced. Clean. His clothes are old but very well mended. He must be a tailor’s apprentice.”

  “Stop.”

  “What is it?”

  Mila clenched her jaw before calming herself and whispering, “I do not want to know. I only want to feed.”

  “Ah, but, my sweet, unfortunately I must know. Venice is not small, but neither is it large. The boy will know men who know his mother who knows his aunt’s neighbors. To hunt successfully in Venice, you need to learn everything you can about your victim in order to create the right kind of trail away from the true cause of death. Suspicion is a hardy plant and requires very little to thrive and bloom into rumors. Therefore, it falls to me to salt the earth behind us.”

  She swallowed convulsively, his words implying more threats than promises. But her Thirst was beginning to cloud her mind, and she made a restless noise in the back of her throat.

  “Oh, my impatient little bird.” Fanti chuckled. “It is unkind of me to tease you when you suffer. Go. Wait for me in the alley around the corner. There is broken gate, and behind it, an overrun garden. I will meet you there.”

  Mila hardly knew how she reached the garden, her steps were a blur. The garden was a tangled mess of moss and ivy, with a crumbling fountain in the center. She tucked herself into a corner, careful of the unkempt thorny bushes that sprawled around it.

  She recognized Fanti’s soft, steady footfalls in the shadows of the garden. Another set of footsteps accompanied him, but these were less certain, stumbling and irregular. Fanti’s hood hid his face from the youth, who looked vacant and numb under a glamour. Rational thought deserted her then.

  All she could smell was salt and supple skin, with the tang of iron beneath it. All she could see was the jumping vein in his neck. All she could hear was the thundering of his heart.

  “Here, my sweet,” Fanti said, gently pushing the youth into her embrace. “Take what you need, and have no care for what happens after. I shall look after everything for you.”

  She only half-heard his words. Already, she was brushing her lips along the warm skin of the boy’s neck. The Thirst howled at her. Nothing existed beyond fangs, flesh, and blood. Her bite was tender, despite her need. A hard bite might have made a mess, and she didn’t want to waste a precious drop.

  It was never about the taste of the blood, though she could well discern its flat flavors of salt and wet copper. It was about the way the blood rushed through her body, bonding with every sinew and nerve, making her shiver with exhilaration. It was like being filled with a kinetic kind of love, her victim’s passion for life transferring itself to her own hollowed-out soul.

  The youth slumped lifelessly in her arms, and she felt a pang of disappointment that it was over already. But she was full and he hadn’t suffered…much. At least she didn’t think he had suffered.

  As much as possible, she always tried to be gentle in her feeding, unlike Dorian, who often gave way to the sadistic delights of feeding from different points on the body, prolonging the end for the victim. She had seen him practically tear out the throats of others in his violent need. He could break bones and listen to screams as he fed. He was rarely careful with his victims, and though Mila readily followed him in all things, she found his way of feeding somewhat distasteful.

  “Better, little bird?” Fanti asked, breaking into her sated stupor. She blinked, forcing her thoughts back into the moment. He reached out and took the youth from her arms, holding him almost tenderly. “I will take care of him. You were very good, very careful. Such little marks! It is good! This means that with a bit of sleight of hand, I may return him to his family so he can be mourned and buried. It will be of great comfort to them.”

  “You would let his body be found?” She didn’t know if she was more shocked or confused.

  “Aye,” Fanti replied. “Better that than to have another ‘plague victim’ found floating in the canals. Besides, Venice is my home. Though I hunt in its streets, like a hunter, I must have a care for my game and my land. I must feed, but that does not mean I have the right to cause undue suffering to either the living or the dead.”

  He left Mila with instructions to stay put until he returned, and it was easy enough to obey. Her head was too full of conflict and questions. Fanti’s relationship with the mortals of Venice was like nothing she had ever encountered before. He seemed to care for these mortals, even hold them in affection like a shepherd for his lambs.

  She wondered if he would feel the same paternal protectiveness if he encountered Gavin. The idea struck her with horror twice over. First for the pang of anguish she felt at the thought of Gavin dying, and second for the fact she felt so strongly for a mortal man she had barely met and done nothing more than argue with.

  Fanti returned and led her from the garden, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm and even wrapping his capacious cloak around her shoulders. His behavior teetered between that of a charming host and a wish to cause offense by treading on another coven leader’s territory.

  “I apologize that it too me so long to return to you,” he said as he hurried them along the streets. “Unfortunately, I encountered something I believe you must see.”

  Before Mila could question him, he pulled her to him and fit them into the shadows of a doorway. A little way down the street, in a small pool of light that fell from a lant
ern that hung from the window above, a man and a woman stood close in a way that flirting or fighting lovers would.

  Mila inhaled sharply in surprise, and her senses were assaulted by Dorian’s scent. It wasn’t enough that she had recognized him – would recognize him anywhere – from the way he stood and the set of his shoulders. No, she had to fill her lungs with him. But there was more.

  Sunshine.

  Lavender.

  The girl.

  He was with the mortal girl from the day before.

  The girl shifted then slumped in his arms, and Dorian kicked open a door and pulled them inside. Mila heard the click of the lock.

  What was Dorian going to do with the girl?

  Feed or fuck?

  Which was it? Far too much depended on that particular answer, and Mila dreaded that it would be the wrong one, even though she clung to the hope that the locked door would mean feeding.

  “I am sorry you had to see that.” Fanti’s voice was soft and comforting. “Your creator is headed down a path of madness. Only you can stop him from such folly. You know there is only one way to do that.”

  “Thank you,” was all that Mila could say, her heart too full of hurt to think of anything else.

  “Oh, little bird,” Fanti said, wrapping her in his arms. “Did I not tell you that I have a care for all things that dwell in my city, for they are all dear to me.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Gavin!” Sophia ran toward the hunter’s home. She tripped on the step toward the door and her hands slammed against it as she caught her weight. Her chest heaved and she looked over her shoulder as she banged her palm upon the thick wooden surface. “Gavin! Please!”

  She turned to face the door as images of the red eyes surfaced, as did the kissing with Dorian.

  Dorian, she repeated in her mind. Did he not also have the red eyes?

  “Gavin!” she screamed once more.

  The door unlocked and creaked open. Gavin stood in the door, eyes wide with fright. “Sophia! What…come in!”