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

by Sophia North

  His continued silence stretched the awkwardness of their conversation to the limit, until finally, in an attempt to fill the dead air, Simone quietly asked: "Where am I?"

  "My home," was his two word reply.

  Then silence again.

  Feeling increasingly uncomfortable, Simone decided to take the bull by the horns and break the deadlock between them. "What is your kind's history? As a trained doctor and psychiatrist my logical mind aches to dissect your unique biological and psychological traits."

  Dante chuckled, pleased to be dealing with the good doctor again. She was much more predictable... and by extension, safer.

  Having Simone in his home, looking delectable enough to eat, played hell with his self-control. The temptation to take her against the supple leather of the generous couch was almost unbearable.

  Determined to diffuse his escalating sexual desire for her, he opted for the best known cure. He'd answer her questions. Nothing got humans off on a tangent like having a vampyre willing to do so.

  "You are not the first human drawn to unravelling the mystery of our existence. In truth, there is an entire sect devoted to the cause, much to the horror of many in Lowerton. They would prefer our two worlds not come into contact unless absolutely necessary," he explained, scattering the first breadcrumbs of information and eager to see which ones she would pick up.

  "Your existence is known to humans?"

  As soon as she'd said it, Simone realised how naive it sounded. Of course there were humans who knew about vampyres, was she not a shining example of this rather obvious fact?

  Dante sat back. Ah, the old ‘human awareness of vamps’ chestnut. An interesting path to take. "Yes and no is the enigmatic answer," he replied.

  The puzzled look on Simone's face prompted him to clarify.

  "We, and others considered 'supernatural', are only known to a small, select number of humans. Granted, there have been moments in history when relations were, ah...what is the twenty-first century phrase for it?...more transparent. Yet on the whole, it is usually best when humans believe but don't actually know about the supernatural world. I am sure with your extensive knowledge of the human psyche, you can appreciate the point I am making."

  Simone understood it perfectly. Jungian archetypes were a fascination of hers.

  "And who exactly are the illustrious Chosen few?" Simone asked sharply, unable to keep the edge from her voice. The exposure of supernatural beings would mean a monumental shift in their shared reality. Tantamount to the revelation of...

  "... aliens being real." Simone said, finishing her silent thoughts aloud.

  Dante arched a quizzical brow at her strange statement.

  Simone blushed, realising how out of place her comment had been. It always drove Penny mad when she'd have an internal conversation with herself...say something aloud in relation to whatever it was she'd been thinking... and in the end confuse the hell out of the poor soul who was with her.

  Apparently such practices were uncommon amongst most normal folk. Oh well, one is who one is.

  As for Dante, his only thought was: Where the fuck had that come from? But at least the conversation was working wonders at quelling his erection.

  Aliens? That was a first.

  "This fascination over the existence of aliens is most strange," he replied, stroking his bottom lip in mock contemplation. "Vlad and I are constantly amazed at the explosion of interest, especially since the invention of the worldwide web. My god, one would have thought Hollywood's homage on the subject would have been enough to put it to rest."

  "Have vampyres not received the same fame?" Simone returned, challenging his patronising 'there, there' tone. "And yet, there you sit ... a living, breathing vampyre."

  "Well, technically speaking, I'm dead," Dante teased.

  "Hah, exactly," she declared triumphantly. "Which leads us back to my original question."

  It did? If so, Dante struggled to recall what it was.

  "About aliens?" he prompted, with a devilish twinkle in his eye.

  "No, not about bloody aliens," she burst out. "Sod them, I have enough to deal with as it is - extra terrestrial beings are the least of my worries."

  "They will be disappointed to learn this," Dante replied, trying to keep a straight face.

  Speechless, Simone stared at him with barely contained fury. His attitude that this was all some kind of a lark rankled her. "You are impossible," she eventually said.

  Dante sighed. As enjoyable as it was watching Simone's reactions, there were more serious matters at hand. She would have time aplenty to quiz him about his world. She just didn't know it yet.

  "You've been through quite an ordeal tonight, Simone and need to rest," his deep baritone voice soothed.

  "I cannot stay here," she squawked, deeply unsettled at the prospect. "It wouldn't be proper."

  A smile tugged at his lips. How very Victorian of her.

  Before she had time to move, Dante scooped her up from the couch. Cradled in his arms, he took a moment to revel in the feel of her pressed against him. So warm, so soft. Her scent intoxicated him.

  Wanting to protest over his high-handedness, Simone felt too exhausted to put up much of a fight. With her arms wrapped around his neck, she studied his profile. Her gaze lingered on his full lips, as she recalled their passionate kissing.

  Sensing her stare, Dante wanted nothing more than to turn his head and kiss her again, but refrained from acting on the impulse. Samsun's bite had yet to be dealt with, and part of her recovery required plenty of rest.

  Simone drew in a shaky breath when he finally did turn to meet her gaze. She knew it was wrong to want him, but she did. She ached for him.

  Seeing the desire in her eyes, Dante dipped his head. "Not tonight," he whispered seductively in her ear. "When I make you mine I want you...completely. Sleep, my beautiful Simone. Sleep."

  Yawning, she had to admit, she did feel rather tired.

  Nestling her head against his shoulder, Simone's eyes grew heavy. "Dante?" she whispered, seeking to question him about what he meant.

  "Shhh, sweetness. Sleep."

  And with a soft sigh, she did.

  Chapter Eleven

  RIVULETS OF HOT water streamed down Simone's body, washing away all traces of the previous night's escapades. With her head tilted up, she ran her soapy fingers along her completely healed throat, watching the remnants of dried blood disappear down the drain.

  Unsure of the time when she'd woken in a large four poster bed, she'd turned to see if there was a clock nearby and instead found a freshly cut peony on the pillow beside her. It's intoxicating smell had assailed her senses, it's delicate ruffled deep pink petals still carried the morning dew.

  Stepping from the walk-in shower, Simone wrapped herself in a large, plush towel. In front of the sink, she paused to check her throat in the large mirror.

  Not a mark to be found. Incredible. Whatever Dante had done to heal her had worked miracles. She'd be sure to add that to the long list of questions she had for him.

  Back in the bedroom, Simone came to an abrupt halt. The room had been tidied, the bed made and her flower placed in an elegant crystal vase on top of the chest-of-drawers. Laid out on the bed was a white summer dress, with beautifully embroidered flowers decorating the flared scalloped hem.

  Simone lifted the dress and held it against her towel-clad body. A perfect fit. She slid it on and was about to reach behind to zip it up when a pair of hands began to do it for her.

  With a sharp intake of breath, Simone felt fingers softly trace her spine as they did so. Desire coursed through her. Who knew putting on clothes could be so erotic?

  "Good morning, Simone," Dante whispered seductively in her ear. "Are you hungry?"

  Ravenous, she thought, but not for food.

  Sensing her growing desire, Dante resisted. "Ah, yes. Tempting as that may be - you need to eat and we need to talk. Properly," he replied sternly, unsure if the edge in his tone was meant to ke
ep his, or Simone's, passion in check. "When you are ready, please join me in the kitchen. I'll make you some breakfast."

  Startled by his offer, she turned to look at him. "I thought vampyres only drank blood. Why would you know how to cook?"

  Dante chuckled warmly. "Believe it or not, Simone you are not the only human I have had the pleasure to entertain. I am three hundred years old, remember."

  "I'm not sure I can ever get used to it," she confessed. "I have so many questions."

  "I know - and I will answer all of them. But first, finish here and come down to eat."

  Dante did not wait for a reply, vanishing just as quickly as he'd appeared. Only a gentle stir of her nearly-dry hair against her cheek provided any proof he'd even been there.

  Simone returned to her ensuite bathroom to finish getting ready. On the counter, a basket filled with all her preferred feminine necessities awaited her perusal. Impressed by Dante's thoughtfulness, she began to apply lip gloss when a sudden thought struck her. The lip gloss was made by her favourite boutique in the exact shade she always bought. What sort of male mind stocked his home with an array of women's cosmetics to such a degree?

  Simone's hand shook slightly as she returned the gloss's applicator and screwed it shut. No sane male mind would, was her silent reply.

  Tossing it back into the basket, she stalked from the ensuite bathroom and made her way out of the bedroom, intent on grilling her host over his unnerving attention to cosmetic details.

  It wasn't until she reached the top of a grand staircase that her anger was replaced by a feeling of awe over her opulent surroundings.

  Her vague memories from last night had not truly captured the splendour of Dante's home. She knew it had to be grand, her bedroom alone was the size of her flat's bedroom wing, and that was by no means small.

  Yet, she hadn't expected anything quite so majestic.

  Marble stairs led to a large central hall, also made of marble. With towering columns supporting the incredible height of this central edifice, the home's interior was like a huge courtyard of marble. But it was the marble's colour which truly created the most dramatic effect - it was of the purest white and bathed the area in so much brightness a person could be forgiven for thinking it was sunlight.

  Such purity owned by a creature of the night. The irony did not escape her.

  Following the smell of fresh coffee and bacon, Simone eventually found her way to the kitchen tucked at the far end of the house.

  Dante stood behind a large black granite island, cooking. "Coffee is on the table," he said, tilting his head in its direction but keeping his gaze fastened on the task at hand. "How do you like your eggs?"

  Simone remained silent as she padded over to the table and poured a cup of coffee. "You neglected to provide me with shoes - which is surprising given your excellent selection in lip gloss," she commented, studying him intently for his reaction.

  Dante grimaced. "I can explain - it is not as you believe. I had my manservant go to your flat to investigate and he..."

  The sound of loud cawing interrupted Dante's explanation. Startled, Simone turned to find a gilded cage in a niche with a large intimidating black bird flapping its wings and generally making a ruckus.

  "You have a pet raven?" she gasped.

  Dante either ignored her question or could not hear it over the bird's din, as he continued on as if nothing had happened. "Oh, very well. I had my Private Secretary investigate your flat and he thought you would like to have some familiar, personal items around to help bring you comfort."

  How considerate. But unfortunately Simone was having none of it.

  "You have a gay personal assistant, who investigates women you want to shag so that in the event you manage to lure one of us down here, you have our preferred cosmetic brands on hand?" she accusingly stated.

  Her ream of words took some following and the raven seemed to take exception to something she'd said because it started squawking again.

  "He prefers Private Secretary," Dante corrected her. "And tends to get a bee in his bonnet over the pettiest of matters. As for the answer to your rant: no, I do not."

  The raven quieted.

  "Egg preference?" he asked again.

  "Poached."

  Theirs were the strangest conversations.

  Simone sat at the table sipping her coffee watching Dante. A tight black short-sleeved shirt hugged his very muscular torso, along with a perfectly pressed pair of black trousers to complete the look. The vamp certainly knew how to make an elegant impression and could easily pass for a high-powered executive from the City.

  "I still await an explanation as to why you sent a member of your staff to my flat," she reminded him after he placed an artfully arranged plate in front of her. "Wait, where's the bacon?"

  Dante flashed back and forth from the island to present her with a plate of sizzling bacon. "I was unsure if your delicate constitution would allow for such an indulgence - seeing as you are a 'poached' person."

  "When one has had blood sucked from them by a vampyre, bacon should not only be encouraged but deemed essential to regaining one's equilibrium," she replied, greedily tucking in.

  Dante laughed in return and poured himself a cup of coffee.

  "You drink coffee?" she asked in surprise.

  "Amongst other things."

  Simone swallowed her bacon with a distinctive gulp.

  "This is going to be a very long conversation if I’m to list out all the things I can or cannot do, wouldn't you agree?"

  "Partially," she replied coolly. "However, it's not as though we share the same benign day-to-day human traits, do we?"

  Dante sipped his coffee, his grey eyes flashing in amusement over the cup's rim. "Touché."

  "You are impossible," she muttered, echoing her opinion from the previous night.

  Simone dug into her eggs savagely, determined to eat something and then leave. She'd reached her limit with this vampyre world.

  Placing his cup down, Dante sighed. There was much to explain and little time to do so. Alfred's surveillance footage and Vlad's numerous voicemails demanding Dante return his calls painted a bleak picture. He really wasn’t sure where to start.

  Simone ate her breakfast at record speed. The sooner she was on her way the better. "Thank you for the excellent bed and breakfast service, if you could kindly provide me with my shoes, I'll be on my way."

  "You cannot leave."

  "No, it is you who cannot go into the sunlight. I am human and perfectly capable of basking in its loving warmth."

  Dante rose and held out his hand. "Come. Let me explain why you must stay."

  Simone slapped it away. "Forgive me, but I really must be going."

  "Very well, then allow me to show you."

  Dante snapped his fingers and a large flat-screen TV came on behind him. On it was a still image.

  Simone recognised it immediately. "Why the hell is my flat on your TV?" The frozen image began to play. "You have cameras in my flat!" she exclaimed, pointing at the screen.

  In response to her accusation, the footage began to jump about, quickly dispelling the idea of him having hidden cameras in her home. "Oh wait, you sent your obviously DTing private secretary to break into my flat and film it."

  "Watch", Dante commanded. The camera angle moved along at floor level, until it displayed the image of body.

  "Oh my god, is that a dead body in my flat?! Who..."

  Simone didn't need to finish the question once she got a good view of the man. It was Daryl, the Head of Security at her building, laying on the floor with his throat ripped out.

  Peering intently at the screen as the camera zoomed in closer, Simone’s eyes widened. "Does he have ...?"

  "Wolf fangs ... yes," Dante said bluntly, as he switched off the television.

  "Daryl's a werewolf? Werewolves are real too?" Simone whispered, shaking her head. Dear lord, where would the madness end?

  "Yes to both questions," he solemnly replie
d. "I suspect he sensed trouble in your flat and due to his nature went to investigate. Wolves are notoriously territorial and will not tolerate vampyres on their turf."

  "A vampyre killed him? Why? And for that matter, why would a vampyre be in my flat?"

  She fired questions at him like a barrage of bullets. "I am not yet sure,” he answered. “I intend to have an associate look into the matter and expect him shortly."

  This gave Simone pause. "Another vampyre will be here soon?"

  Seeing the prospect did not appeal, Dante looked to soothe her worries. "Don't be alarmed - Vlad is a fellow brother-in-arms and I want you to meet him. He is the only one I trust to protect you should I be unable to do so."

  Wonderful. As if dealing with one arrogant male vamp captor wasn't bad enough. Two would no doubt be hell.

  "I told you, I won’t stay here," she replied in a firm tone.

  Dante rolled his eyes. "Stop being so obtuse. You know as well as I, you have no other option. Your life is in danger and you require protection."

  "Really? As far as I can work out, vampyres are the ones I need to be protected from. So forgive me for having doubts about taking refuge with one. It doesn't seem a particularly wise move on my part, now does it?"

  Right, this was not going to be as easy as he thought.

  "Give me one hour to convince you otherwise," Dante entreated, hoping to buy some time. He expected Vlad soon and hoped his friend's easy temperament might convince Simone they weren't all unbending, opinionated bastards.

  Simone hesitated, but her instincts told her to hear him out.

  Dante could see she was close to agreeing until her next question put everything back in jeopardy.

  "What time is it by the way? I have yet to see a clock in this mausoleum you call a home and my mobile is conveniently missing," she accused, levelling him with a hard glare.

  "It's just gone nine," Dante answered, shifting uneasily under her cool gaze.

  "Could you be a bit more specific?"

  He could, but felt confident she wasn't going to like it.