The Watcher: A Vampire Paranormal Romance (The Age of Vampyre Book 1)

by Sophia North

  Stunned, Simone sat frozen in her chair. Through her headphones she heard Jason screeching at her to go to an advert break.

  In a surprisingly composed voice she announced: "I apologise about our last caller. Anyone who listens regularly knows we occasionally get someone intent on spoiling the show. So let's all have a moment to compose ourselves. I'll be back in a couple of minutes after this short message from one of our sponsors."

  Simone looked at Jason and he stared back, a worried expression on his face.

  "This is bad," he said from his booth. "They're going to be really unhappy about me not cutting him off. I just don't know what happened."

  Unsure what to say, Simone turned back in her chair to stare at the screen.

  Was 'A', Anton? And if it was Anton, did this mean...was it conceivable he really was a…vampyre? Was Dante one too?

  No, stop being ridiculous, she silently reprimanded. Dante suffered from a personality disorder, nothing more.

  "Simone, you're back on!" she heard Jason announce loudly.

  Sliding her headphones firmly into place, Simone glanced at the clock. Only half an hour to go. Surely nothing else could go wrong tonight.

  Chapter Nine

  "DANTE, WAIT! WE need to..."

  He never heard the end of Vlad's sentence. Once topside, Dante's sole objective was to put as much distance between himself and Lowerton as he could. Otherwise, he might very well smash the place up.

  Archaic, incompetent, out-of-touch - were but a few choice words to describe the bastards. From now on they deserved whatever they got.

  For they sow the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind.

  The Bible was clearly onto something with that bit of wisdom.

  Dante raced through the streets, the need to release his pent-up anger driving him to go faster and faster. Finally spent, he took refuge in a small leafy garden square.

  Hunched over, trying to catch his breath, Dante used the peacefulness of his natural surroundings to soothe his temper.

  He shouldn't have been surprised by the Council's failure to act, his low opinion of them was not without merit. They failed him time and again - Zara's murder, his father's disappearance - but he'd really believed his vision would spur them to change their approach to the Haan prophecy.

  How could he have been so naive?

  Finally feeling more at ease, he pulled his mobile phone from his pocket to see if he might catch the end of InsideOut.

  Ah, the sweet Simone. How he longed to see her, touch her. Walking away last night had taken a monumental exertion of will power. But to continue would have placed her further in harm's way, and as much as he wanted her, he could not risk her life for his own selfish needs.

  He could, however, still listen.

  Slipping in his earbuds, he flicked to the InsideOut's app on his phone. After a moment of buffering, the stream started to play.

  "Dante – hear me! I know you're out there listening to this pathetic little radio show. Things that bad, eh? You must be desperate. But whether you like it or not the Age of the Vampyre is dawning. The Great Haan said it would be so and so it shall be. If you won't join us, then you will die! If you won't join us, then you will die!"

  Shocked by Anton's audacity to air his plans publicly, Dante sat frozen in place. Even though Anton's performance validated everything he'd just told the Council, his first reaction was not one of vindication. It was fear.

  Anton knew about Simone. She was in danger.

  Panic coursed through him. He must protect her at all costs.

  Unsure where he was, Dante rushed from the sleepy garden square into the streets, until he found himself standing outside of Harrods in Kensington.

  Checking his phone, he noted her show ended in fifteen minutes. Madly scrolling through the station's website, he searched for its location. Cursing the site's poor navigation, he finally found the address on the Contact Us page.

  The station was located in St. John's Woods, twenty minutes away at the most.

  Without a second thought, he set off in a shimmer of speed.

  *

  SIMONE MANAGED TO get through the rest of the show without any further mishaps. At least that's what she liked to tell herself.

  Unfortunately, the storm of comments about the 'A' incident on InsideOut's live stream, along with Jason's ever increasing agitation in the booth, totally contradicted her optimistic stance.

  After signing off, Simone put her headphones down on the desk with a distinct plonk. Rubbing the back of her neck, she turned to leave only to find her producer entering the studio.

  His face etched with anger, Jason immediately launched into a tirade. "Jesus, the bosses are going to want our heads after tonight!"

  "It wasn't that bad…" she said, attempting to placate him.

  "Not that bad!" he yelled back. "Do you have any idea what the repercussions might be? We could find ourselves out of work. Oh wait, one of us already has another job. How could I forget, when it was one of your nutty clients who phoned in and ruined my career?"

  "Take it easy, Jason," Simone snapped, getting out of her chair. "The caller is not one of my clients and never has been."

  "Well, whoever he is, he thinks he's a bloody vampyre or something. And how did he jam my computer system? I mean...what the hell, Simone?"

  Simone glared back. He had a point about the bosses. They would have questions about Jason's inability to cut the caller off. But what could she do? There was no way she was going to mention anything about Dante.

  "I'm leaving," she said, grabbing her coat. "I can't handle this tonight. I need time to think!"

  "You can't leave! We need a plan for dealing with the higher-ups."

  "To hell with them," Simone responded, striding purposely towards the studio's exit.

  At the door, she paused as a wave of sympathy for her producer washed over her. His anger was understandable. He couldn't be expected to accept all this talk of vampyres and prophecies when she was barely able to wrap her own head around it.

  "Jason, I'm sorry," she apologised. "Things are just too messed up right now."

  "Fuck being sorry," Jason shouted. "It's not good enough, Simone…"

  Simone closed the door behind her, leaving Jason to continue his rant alone.

  Taking the lift down to the basement car park, Simone took a deep breath to calm her frayed nerves. Her mind whirled with the implications of Anton's call. She didn't know what to believe anymore.

  When the lift doors opened, the damp chill of the underground car park assailed her. There were only a handful of cars at this time of night and most of them belonged to the night-shift staff.

  Striding towards her Tesla, the sound of her heels echoed in the vastness of the concrete structure. Simone needed to get away, clear her head, focus.

  Reaching the Roadster, she pulled the key fob from her pocket to unlock the driver door. The beep-beep a welcome sound to her tortured mind. Freedom was but moments away.

  Maybe I'll pop round to Penny's? she silently mused, reaching for the handle. Her best friend always had a way of making Simone feel better. And it usually involved alcohol.

  About to open the door, a reflection in the window stayed her. Someone was standing behind her.

  Startled, she quickly turned round to confront her strange visitor. Before her stood a short, thick-set man with black bushy hair and piercing eyes.

  "My, my, I'm going to enjoy draining you," the man muttered, as he cornered her against the door. Running a hand through her hair, his eyes gleamed menacingly.

  Repulsed by his touch, Simone pushed his hand away. "Who are you?" she asked, her voice sounding scratchy. "And don't you dare touch me."

  "Feisty too, eh?" he responded with a laugh.

  Desperate to get away, Simone tried to think of something to say in order to buy a little time when her next words just fizzed out. "This is to do with the caller tonight...it's to do with Dante The Watcher, isn't it? You're not really intereste
d in me."

  "The whole world is interested in you, my pretty," he hissed. "The beautiful Simone, whom Dante Polidori seeks - oh yes, my pretty, he must like you."

  "You're wrong. He doesn't like me at all. I'm his therapist and no one likes their therapist," she rambled nonsensically.

  "Oh, my master knows you are more than that. But not for much longer."

  The man suddenly placed a hand on the back of her neck. Simone had not even seen him move. His hand was just there.

  Restrained against her car by his bulk, she tried to push him off but he was too strong. "I'll scream," she gasped. "Someone will hear."

  The man chuckled at her pathetic attempt at a threat.

  Suddenly she felt a sharp pain on the side of her neck, causing her to cry out in disbelief.

  He was drinking her blood. Like a vampyre!

  The pain soon disappeared, replaced by a strange numbing sensation. In her right ear she could hear her attacker swallowing.

  He's drinking my blood! He's drinking my blood! she silently panicked.

  She tried to scream, but nothing came out other than a soundless gasp for breath.

  Overwhelmed by a hazy light-headedness, her will to fight started to wane. It was all over. Whatever he was, this creature, this vampyre sucking her blood, he was immovable.

  Slowly, everything began to fade.

  Wondering if this was it...death, Simone felt the vampyre abruptly pulled from her, accompanied by a roar of rage so intense it shook her vehicle. Freed from her attacker, Simone's legs buckled and she collapsed onto the ground, instantly losing consciousness.

  Dante grabbed the fiend feeding on Simone and threw him down the length of the car park, as if he were nothing more than a cricket ball. Skidding across the tarmac with a couple of bounces, the vamp finally hit the far concrete wall.

  Kneeling down beside Simone's unconscious form, he initially feared the worse.

  Was he too late?

  Gently pressing his fingers against the bite mark on her neck, Dante nearly cried out in gratitude when a faint heartbeat thumped beneath his touch.

  His relief, however, was short-lived.

  Attacked from behind, Dante managed to shift his weight at the last second to send his opponent catapulting over Simone's car and into a concrete pillar.

  The column crumbled under the force of impact and at its base Simone's attacker laid motionless, covered in rubble.

  Dante watched the vampyre's unanimated body quickly come back to life. Something wasn't right. A blow like that should keep a vampyre incapacitated for much longer.

  Finally able to get a good look at the vamp, Dante recognised him as Samsun, an old acquaintance from way back. His anger mixed with surprise. Samsun was known for being a gregarious, easy-going vampyre.

  But before Dante had a chance to say anything, Samsun came charging at him like a vamp possessed.

  Using his superior warrior skills, Dante threw his attacker through the passenger window of Simone's Tesla. The deranged vamp went straight out the opposite window, the sound of breaking glass echoing inside the empty car park. And then there was silence.

  Cautiously, Dante moved to the other side of the car, certain Samsun was not finished. At best, he would merely be dazed.

  But there was no sign of him. The vamp had given up the fight and fled.

  "Another time, old friend," Dante muttered under his breath.

  Returning to Simone, he was relieved to discover her sitting up, rubbing the side of her neck. "You have strong recovery powers," he said, kneeling down beside her.

  "He bit me!" she exclaimed. "He was drinking my blood!"

  "It's what vampyres do," Dante muttered, helping her back to her feet. "Well, some vampyres," he corrected.

  Standing on shaky legs, Simone looked into Dante's eyes and whispered: "It's true then. You are one too?"

  Instead of verbally agreeing, he decided to confirm her query by revealing his fangs. Unfortunately, the gesture had rather too much effect. Simone gasped in astonishment before promptly fainting in his arms.

  "Wrong move, Dante, you idiot," he muttered, cradling the unconscious woman.

  Chapter Ten

  SIMONE'S EYES FLUTTERED open. Above her a high, ornately decorated ceiling came into focus. At its centre, a large mural depicted a scene typical of the Renaissance period. Set in a pastoral landscape, young women in various states of disrobe cavorted at the edge of a large pool of water, fed by a cascading waterfall.

  In the sky, a full moon shone down, casting its warm glow on the glade's proceedings. A celebration was afoot, with sumptuous food and wine spilling across tables set out for those in attendance.

  The details were amazing, and for a while, Simone was content to lay there and soak them in. The painting was a much more preferable option to contemplate than the possibility she was in Heaven's waiting room.

  Eventually the soft creak of leather alerted her to the fact she was not alone. Stiffening slightly, she closed her eyes and tried to feign sleep. St. Peter could wait, she wasn't quite ready yet to face his judgement.

  "I know you are awake, Dr. Radcliffe."

  Simone immediately recognised the deep cultured voice, and it certainly didn't belong to a saint.

  Memories of her night flooded back. The underground car park. A man with fangs...drinking her blood...attacked...attacked by a...

  "Vampyre," she whispered aloud.

  "Yes, it is true. I am a vampyre."

  Scrambling up, Simone retreated to the corner of the long leather couch. "Mr. Polidori, I demand an explanation on how I've come to be here. Immediately," she nigh on screeched, but still managed to look all haughty.

  Ah, Dr. Prim & Proper had decided to return. Pity, Dante silently mused.

  But Simone's straight-laced ways were the least of his worries. He was more concerned about the fact that she did indeed remember him.

  With everything that had happened in the car park he couldn't be certain if she had recognised him, which begged the question: How had she not succumbed to his power of enchantment? It had never failed him before.

  Mystified again at her ability to resist his powers, Dante stared at his shocked therapist with an appraising eye. "Here in what sense? Physically or mentally?" he ventured, hoping to draw exactly what she did or did not recall about the night's events.

  To be fed on by a vampyre was serious business. It brought on varying experiences for mortals - at least for those who survived it and they fell into three camps.

  There were those who tended to dismiss the experience completely from their minds as nothing more than a particularly vivid, albeit terrifying dream. Whilst others buried it so deeply not even a faint memory remained. But for those unfortunate few who did remember, it would take vampyric mind control to erase it completely, for if left untreated, they tended to go mad.

  Silently mulling where Simone currently ranked, Dante worried how he would handle it if she remembered everything. Without the power to wipe her memories, his choices weren't great. Although her knowing who he was, what they shared, was certainly an appealing prospect. Perhaps they might pick up where they left off in her Tesla.

  He'd been fantasising about making love to her ever since their passionate embrace. And quite frankly, she looked adorable with her wide-eyed shock at his evasiveness.

  "Are you trying to be cute with me?" she accused, her ice blue eyes narrowing. "I demand to know why I was attacked, both on-air and physically by bloody vampyres! You know, creatures that were once happily only a figment of imagination."

  Cute? He'd never been referred to as 'cute' before. It brought a slight smile to his lips. Modern women's use of language never ceased to amaze him.

  Simone sat back in amazement. He found her amusing?

  The arrogant beast.

  Seeing her militant expression, Dante regretted not guarding his reaction to her outburst. He needed her pliable, not plotting his demise.

  "Simone," he began gently. "It i
s not my intention to rile you with my manner. I have long been without practice in dealing with mortals who have learned about our existence involuntarily. Normally, my power to erase a human's memory happens without a hitch. Unfortunately, this does not seem to be the case with you."

  Listening carefully to his explanation, Simone sensed he spoke truthfully and allowed herself to relax a little. "You tried to erase my memory in the car?" she asked, his strange words finally making sense.

  "Yes, but I didn't realise I'd failed in my endeavour. If I had known, I never would have walked away from you," he explained.

  Hurt to learn that he'd never intended to see her again, Simone tried not to let it show. But if he'd truly believed their time together had ended, why come to her rescue?

  "How did you know I was in danger if I had ceased to be of interest to you?" she asked, the pain of his rejection adding an edge to her tone.

  Ceased to be of interest to him? Not bloody likely. She'd dominated his thoughts from the moment he'd heard her voice on the airwaves. He could just as soon stop breathing as cease to be interested in her.

  "How?" she demanded more forcefully.

  Dante shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He didn't want to tell her the truth, fearing she'd find his answer displeasing. "I could not resist hearing you again. Your voice resonates very powerfully within me. I am drawn to you like I was..."

  "To Zara," Simone finished for him.

  He nodded stiffly in the affirmative. "When I heard Anton threaten you, I could not help but react. I'd failed Zara and wasn't going to allow another innocent be harmed because of me."

  He may be a vampyre, but he displayed all the classic human symptoms of emotional confusion. "It is alright, Dante. What you felt towards me is referred to as transference. You transferred the feelings you have for Zara to me because I was able to help you the way she did."

  The compassion in her cool blue eyes made Dante look away.

  His feelings for Simone far exceeded those he'd ever felt for Zara. And it confused the hell out of him. She should not have such power over him. That right should only lay with his true Mate, and Zara was dead. His research said nothing about finding another so soon, if ever. It could take centuries before a vampyre's match might reappear in human form according to the ancient texts he'd read.