The Vampire's Temptation

by Cecelia Mecca

  Sam’s eyebrows winged up.

  “Just one, actually,” Toni corrected.

  Alessandra tried not to smile as her friend slid a couple of dollars across the counter and took the tea. Toni carried her drink to the side table to doctor it with milk and sugar, and then they moved past their usual seats, two recliners that were currently occupied, and sat on a loveseat instead.

  “So,” Alessandra ventured, “what’s new?”

  Toni simply stared at her. “Care to explain yourself?”

  Alessandra took a sip of the latte—a good choice—and remained silent.

  “Allie?”

  Only two people called her that. Her brother, and Toni.

  “I’m not sure what you—”

  “I know you don’t love Tyler,” Toni said. “But he’s cute and confident—”

  “Cocky.”

  Toni rolled her eyes. “Confident. And he’s really, really good in bed.”

  “Well, then.” She sunk lower into the couch. “By all means, ignore my lame attempt to lure you into another man’s arms—”

  “As if you’re going to get away with not telling me absolutely everything,” Toni said with a new sparkle in her eyes. “What, how, when . . .”

  Alessandra laughed, eliciting more than one stare. She sometimes had a difficult time with volume control, especially when her friend got her laughing.

  “You already grilled me in the bathroom last night, remember? I met him on a run. Apparently he’s new to town and—” She lowered her voice, not wanting anyone to hear for some reason. Surely the gossip mill had enough grist to run on without her adding to it. “He bought the Addy Hutton Mansion.”

  Toni’s eyes widened.

  “How’d he manage that . . . Wait, he moved here?”

  She’d failed to mention that the night before, and Alessandra watched her friend’s face change as understanding finally dawned. After five years of living together, she knew Toni better than she knew anyone. Her friend’s reaction to the newcomer was palpable, and judging from the way he’d looked at Toni last night, the feeling was mutual.

  “Oh God, no. No, no, no. Please tell me you’re joking.” And yet there was no denying she looked secretly pleased by the prospect.

  “I don’t know what he does, aside from hitting some lottery apparently, or how long he plans to stay.” She shrugged. “Sounded like he was a bit of a rover, though, so maybe he just bought the place as an investment opportunity.”

  She took a sip of the warm chai. It wasn’t until she looked up that she noticed Toni’s face had grown serious.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” Toni said.

  “Since you aren’t prepared to fess up to your matchmaking tendencies, talk to me about the tall, dark stranger you disappeared with on the break.”

  “Gladly.”

  She sat up and conjured an image of Kenton Morley in her mind. Easy enough since she hadn’t stopped thinking of him.

  “Did you see him?”

  “I did.”

  “And?”

  “And Lawrence is cuter.”

  Her jaw dropped open. “How could you say such a thing? That man is . . .” How to describe Kenton accurately? “The most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on . . . in real life.”

  Toni shrugged. “He’s not bad—”

  “Not bad?!” It was such a drastic understatement, she could barely get the words out. Her memory conjured up an image of him from the night before. Black hair and light eyes, maybe blue? The dark had concealed the exact shade from her. Chiseled cheekbones that belonged in a magazine. But there was something much, much more . . . intriguing about him than the sum of his parts. A darkness, or sadness, despite his easy smile . . . The man could charm the habit off a nun.

  “Do you find it odd that two handsome strangers show up on the same day?” Toni asked, scrunching up her nose. “I mean, I’ve lived here my whole life and don’t think I’ve ever seen two more good-looking men in Stone Haven. Ever. And then all of a sudden—”

  “Ha! So you admit it. You think Lawrence is—”

  “Would you look at that.” Toni looked at the nonexistent watch on her wrist. “Time to work already. Stop down if you can.”

  “Coward,” she muttered under her breath. “I’ll see you later.”

  As Toni walked away, Alessandra opened her messenger bag and pulled out a good old-fashioned paperback, one she’d grabbed at the used bookstore next door to Curiosities. Opening it, she sunk back down in the sofa and prepared to put Kenton Morley out of her mind for a time, if such a thing were possible.

  “Do you intend to follow me everywhere I go, Derrickson?”

  The Scot was proving to be a nuisance.

  “Do you still plan to kill her?”

  What an odd question. His nemesis knew him as well as anyone. It was an unfortunate fact that over the course of seven hundred years, they’d spent more time living in each other’s proximity than not. His family, attempting to eradicate the Cheld. The Derricksons, to protect them. An entire world, and he was forced to occupy the same small town in Pennsylvania as one of the most dangerous men—or vampires, to be precise—in existence.

  Eternity could weigh on a person.

  He crossed the street toward the coffee shop, and Alessandra’s self-appointed bodyguard followed.

  “She’s begun the transition,” Kenton said.

  Lawrence stopped outside the coffee shop, and Kenton did the same.

  “How could you tell?”

  So . . . Lawrence was already aware of that fact. From their cozy little run? Or had something else tipped him off?

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Of course it matters. Kenton, listen to me—”

  “I’m not interested in your arguments.” He knew them well already. Hadn’t they danced around this issue for much too long? “I will not take that chance, and you well know it.”

  “Dammit, hear me out.”

  Kenton glanced up at the sign above them. The Witch’s Brew. One of the many coffee shops around the world with that same moniker, which made it a bit less clever than the owner likely thought it. He had no interest in listening to the pleas of a traitor, a man who threatened their very existence with his misplaced sympathies.

  “I’d rather not,” he said shortly.

  “There is another you haven’t yet found.”

  He pulled his hand back from the doorknob. It was the one thing Lawrence could have said to stop him short.

  “You’re a liar—”

  “You know I am not.”

  Kenton studied Lawrence’s face, admitting to himself the bastard was right. His nemesis was a Scot and a traitor, a sympathizer whose actions had led to more deaths than he would ever admit to. The head of a family Kenton’s own people had hated for centuries. But annoyingly, Lawrence Derrickson, once chief of the fiercest border clan in Scotland, was also honorable to a fault.

  “I’m listening, although I fail to see how you could have possibly discovered something I have not.”

  To some, his words might sound arrogant, but it was a valid question. They’d both lived long enough to have acquired skills that no mere human could match. And of all his brothers, Kenton was the best at finding information and using it against those who would do them harm.

  With one glaring exception. But that would likely remain a Derrickson family secret forever.

  “It doesn’t matter how—”

  “You are bluffing.” But he wasn’t sure Lawerence meant it. Something about the look on Lawrence’s face . . .

  “Are you willing to take that chance?”

  He wasn’t, and Derrickson knew it. When it came to the Cheld, taking that chance would mean endangering his siblings. Himself. The rest of their godforsaken kind.

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “I’m suggesting you let her live. Watch her as I will do. As she develops, we will—”

  “No.”

  “God dammi
t, Kenton. You know not all Cheld choose to hunt us. They could be powerful allies. What if she—”

  “I am done with this conversation.” He twisted the knob and pushed the door open.

  “I will not allow you to be alone with her—”

  “No, I’d not expect you to offer such a courtesy. But I don’t need a chaperone in the middle of the day at a crowded coffee shop. I’m not an idiot. I don’t wish to draw more attention to us.”

  Lawrence made a sound to indicate he disagreed. But he backed down anyway, knowing Kenton wouldn’t strike in so public a place. After all, the reason Alessandra needed to be killed was precisely because she could expose, and kill, their kind.

  Even if another seven hundred years passed, he’d never eradicate the memory of his mother’s heart, torn from her chest, lying next to her fallen in front of their London townhome. By then they had been alive for nearly two hundred years. Though immortality had forced them out of their ancestral home, Rockford Castle, they had found a new life in the capital city.

  For his mother, it had proven to be her final resting place.

  No, it was not possible to develop a wait-and-see approach. The blood that ran through Alessandra’s veins was much too dangerous. Even now, she sat up straighter. Though she hadn’t seen him yet, she knew he was here. Her senses were becoming heightened.

  Which meant he had to work quickly. If Lawrence was correct, there were more of them, and Kenton had to find out exactly how many. Then he had to remove the threat.

  No matter how beautiful, or intriguing, this Alessandra may be.

  Chapter 4

  He smelled ginger and cardamom wafting from her direction and ordered the same drink she was cradling. Like food, drinks had the ability to bind people together, a common interest that he would exploit. Approaching the couch, aware of her eyes on him, Kenton lifted his cup in greeting.

  “And so we do,” he said.

  She drew her brows together in confusion.

  “Meet again.”

  He could tell she wanted him to sit. And because of her blood, her ancestry, he wished to be close to her. Part of the danger of the Cheld was the draw vampires felt to them. Like a moth to a flame.

  “Ahh, right,” she said, smiling now. She put her book down on the table in front of her. “Would you like to sit?”

  The armchairs on either side of her were taken, but the two-person loveseat would do just fine for his purposes.

  “Don’t mind if I do.”

  If he’d thought her appealing the night before, she was even more so this morning. Though he himself had donned a sport coat, she looked very much the part of a teacher on break—and it suited her.

  “A sweatshirt in June?” he asked.

  Alessandra looked down at herself, the purple “New Orleans” bright enough to be seen across the room even without better-than-average eyesight.

  “It’s always cold in here,” she said, picking up her drink.

  “New Orleans. An . . . interesting place.” He didn’t much care for it himself. Kenton preferred cooler climates, likely because he’d spent his formative years along the English-Scottish border.

  She shrugged. “My brother’s friends decided it would be a good place to go for senior week.”

  “I see.”

  “My mother begged me to go along. She trusted Garrett, mostly, but his friends were a different story. To be honest, it wasn’t the worst sisterly duty in the world, though Garrett wasn’t exactly happy his older sister and her friend decided to tag along.”

  “What was the worst?”

  Curling her foot around her other calf, Alessandra appeared to give the matter some thought. Like he had the night before, he caught himself staring at her lips. They were made to be kissed, although not by him. Again, he felt a pang of regret.

  “The day he was old enough to discover our father was dead.”

  She said it so matter-of-factly that Kenton had to take a moment to process her words. It struck him that it was a surprising thing for someone to say to a near stranger. Then again, she was clearly very direct, and he couldn’t complain—her family was the very subject he wished to discuss.

  “I’m sorry to hear of it,” he said. “He died when you were young?”

  She nodded. “After leaving us without explanation. Or even a note.”

  When she didn’t appear inclined to elaborate, he helped her along.

  “That must have been quite difficult.”

  Alessandra smiled again. She likely didn’t intend for her smile to be so sensual, but those pillowy lips ensured it was so. That smile was a part of her nature, part of what made her her.

  So is the ability to kill your kind. You’d do best to remember that.

  “It was. So anyway—”

  “My father died when I was young too.”

  He could almost hear Lawrence snickering. Kenton could still sense his presence just outside the shop, which meant he was listening to every word of their conversation. They could hone their hearing, concentrating on the conversation in front of them or, as Lawrence was likely doing, the conversation of others.

  Though his father’s death had happened a long time ago, and he hadn’t exactly been a child, but there was no preparing for that kind of loss. His father had kept their family strong after they went through the transition. After they’d turned into what they would later describe as vampires. Then suddenly, he was gone, and Kenton now an earl and vampire both.

  “I’m so sorry. You said you lived in London . . . is that where you’re from? Did your father—”

  “I grew up in Northumberland.”

  He’d almost said Northumbria. Talking to humans could be confusing. Their life span was so short in comparison to his own, and he had to remember not to reveal anything that might indicate his age. Surely they wouldn’t guess he’d witnessed history rather than read about it, but it was best not to encourage uncomfortable questions. For that reason, he preferred not to associate with humans. Unlike his siblings, Kenton mostly kept to the only company he knew was safe—his own. If only he could convince his brothers to do the same.

  “Yet you have no accent,” she said.

  He could, if he so chose. When he chose. Even after all these years, it came back to him as easily as the muscle memories of learning how to fight with a wooden sword, and later, a metal one that had taken too many lives to count. Though not nearly as many lives as the retractable fangs that were his curse. That he could control which of his victims lived or died was no consolation that, for some, the deed must be done.

  “I’ve traveled far and wide since my youth,” he said, allowing his accent free rein.

  Alessandra leaned forward, grinning.

  “Say something else!”

  He was aware the historian was also an Anglophile and planned to use that fact to his advantage. It would help him charm her.

  “What are you reading? I’ve wondered since I sat down.”

  He placed his cup on the table and pulled the open book toward him glancing back at the cover. Sinner. A beautiful white-haired woman, arms outstretched, looked ready to kick some serious ass.

  Dropping the accent, he looked up, surprised. “You’re a fantasy girl, then?” Kenton could typically read others fairly well. But Alessandra was a bit of a mystery. He wouldn’t have expected the sensible historian to have a fanciful side.

  “Always,” she said. “Though not usually urban fantasy until this series. I’ve given myself permission for one fiction book before I start digging into the material for my fall classes.”

  “Are you always so disciplined?”

  He already knew the answer, but he’d like to see how she’d respond.

  “Usually, but I do like to reward myself.”

  “And how exactly do you reward yourself, Alessandra?” he asked, giving in to temptation.

  She inched toward him on the sofa, and he did the same. Their thighs pressed together ever so slightly.

  “With books. A
nd chocolate,” she said, meeting his eyes, “and sometimes massages.”

  A vision of her naked, his hands moving over the contours of her back, was as disturbing as it was unwelcome, especially since it was far from the first time he’d thought of her naked.

  “Professional ones?” he pressed.

  His meaning was clear to them both, but to her credit, Alessandra did not shy away. Just the opposite. She cocked her head to the side and looked at him for a long moment, saying nothing. Then, raising one eyebrow, she asked, “Are you a masseuse?”

  He’d never wished to be so, until now.

  Kenton smiled. “Unfortunately, no.”

  When his bold companion looked him up and down, not even attempting to hide her perusal, he didn’t move a muscle. At least, not voluntarily. Kenton couldn’t remember the last time his pulse had quickened because of the overtures of a human.

  “A business owner, then. No, not that. You would have to stay in one place, and you don’t seem the type. Hmm.” She brought her finger to her chin. “Too . . . too ‘something’ for a banker.”

  He couldn’t help but laugh. “Something? What exactly does that mean?”

  She ignored his question and asked another of her own. “A lawyer?”

  “God no.”

  “I give up.”

  He reached down to adjust the cuff link his brother had given him years earlier. She watched him so intently, a lesser man may have been discomfited by her scrutiny.

  “Have dinner with me,” he said. An impulsive invitation, to be sure, but it would help him learn if Lawrence was telling him the truth or simply attempting to delay the inevitable. “You can keep guessing tonight,” he said. “I will pick you up at seven.”

  “You will . . . I didn’t say yes yet. And you don’t know where I live.”

  He stood. “When you do agree to dinner, I will discover on my own where to find you.”

  He didn’t have to wait long.

  “I suppose—”

  “Good. I will see you tonight.”

  He turned to leave, thought better of it, and spun back around.

  “And just in case you were curious, I very much enjoy rewards too.”