by Kyle, Celia
Vampire Seduction
Real Men of Othercross
Celia Kyle
Marina Maddix
Contents
Blurb
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
About the Authors
Blurb
He’s accused of a crime he didn’t commit and she’s determined to get him off… in more ways than one.
The vamp life sure as hell ain’t the glam life. Just ask Alena Falkov. One day she’ll be a full-fledged attorney, but for now, she’s stuck working her fangs off at a thankless job while she attends Othercross University’s esteemed law school.
Of course she might not have the job for long if she can’t be on time, but when a vampire catches the scent of her Beloved—her one true soul mate—in the hallways of the courthouse, no one could blame her for tracking him down. Now if only he wasn't the defendant... and by all accounts, guilty. Or is he?
Chapter One
Alena Falkov speed-walked through the halls of Othercross Vampire Judiciary in a pathetic attempt at punctuality. After a hundred and twenty-one years of perpetual tardiness, she should have given up any pretense of having her shit in order, but hope sprang eternal.
Good thing, since she was an eternal being.
The memory of waking up covered in blood next to a completely hungover cowboy flashed in her mind. Just her luck to have been changed by some drunk loser of a vampire instead of a gorgeous billionaire master who whisked her away to some exotic locale where he showered her with everything her heart desired.
Not that jets had been invented back then. The point was that a girl still had to work for a living, even if she was undead. And working meant not being late to her job because even if she didn’t have a grocery bill, rent was still due in cold, hard cash every damn month. And for some weird reason landlords didn’t have much of a sense of humor about late payments.
Go figure.
If only vamp life was as sparkly and romantic as it was in the movies. Hell, she’d settle for a story arc in a romance novel right about now. The down-on-her-luck vampiress about to be evicted from her shithole apartment meets a hot-blooded master yearning for her—his fated mate, his one true love, his beloved—to join him in bringing down the evil genius plotting to take over the world.
Alena was jostled out of her pretty daydream when she bumped into a harried werewolf paralegal—Charlotte something, if memory served—who growled menacingly as she struggled to hold onto the stack of files in her arms. Alena did her best not to smirk at the she-wolf’s bravado and then muttered an apology and let the woman get on with her busy evening. Hers too, for that matter.
“Late again, Falkov?” an amused voice said from behind her and Alena winced.
She was always late after Professor Heidgerken’s Comparative Constitutional Law in Shifter Societies class at Othercross University. The warlock really loved the sound of his own voice, a fact which didn’t seem to impress her boss, Odofin, all that much.
Alena jabbed the elevator’s up button and then turned a glare on the owner of the voice. “I’m not late, Ryan. I’m fashionable.”
Ryan’s lips curled into a smirk. “Is unemployment fashionable these days? I’d try that look, but I don’t really think homeless shelter chic is my thing.”
Alena crossed her arms and gave Ryan’s lean frame a dubious once-over. “Says the fairy wearing a buttercup yellow cardigan and green plaid slacks.”
One dark eyebrow shot up and he fluttered his wings, just to tease her. “Drinks tonight?”
The elevator doors opened and Alena hurried on. “Only if you’re paying.”
“Admit it,” he called as the doors cut him off from view, “I make this outfit look good.”
As much as she wanted to stay and argue fashion with her friend, he was right. Unemployment wasn’t her color even if yellow and plaid were his. The moment the doors cracked open, Alena rushed out and nearly tripped over the stench that hit her like a sledgehammer.
“Where are you hiding, Owens?” She looked around for the owner of the scent she knew almost as well as her own. “Don’t bother. I can smell you a mile away.”
An Othercross enforcement officer turned the nearest corner, dragging a cowboy in handcuffs toward the elevator bank. A veritable Vampire Judiciary regular. If Owens wasn’t brought in on drunk and disorderly charges at least once a month, she started to worry. Not much, but she couldn’t ignore the tiny soft spot in her heart for the vampire who transformed her from a basic human to a just-as-basic immortal.
“Aw, shucks, darlin’,” Owens slurred as he stumbled closer, his beat-up shitkickers scuffing the pristine hallway floors. “Man’s got to enjoy hisself.”
“Problem is, you aren’t a man.”
He leered at her good-naturedly. “Gimme jus’ one night, I’ll prove you wrong. Shtill have wha’ it takes, shister.”
She patted his scruffy cheek as the officer hustled him onto the elevator she’d just exited. “You had your shot, stud, and we know how that turned out. Lay off the sorority girls, m’kay? You know drinking from inebriated humans makes you tipsy too. One day you’ll get yourself into real trouble instead of just a night in the drunk tank.”
“Ah, ‘Lena,” he mewled as the doors closed on his ripe odor, no doubt headed for the vampire cell blocks in the basement so he could sleep it off.
Two minutes wasted! On Owens, of all people. She would have much rather spent the time debating the merits of secondhand clothes with Ryan. Not that she had the time to do that, either.
Picking up her pace, Alena’s heels clicked loudly on the polished marble floors. As a vampire, she normally didn’t make noise when she walked, but she’d found shifters could be notoriously jumpy when a vampire approached them without making a sound, especially from behind. It was a simple courtesy that cost her little and gained the appreciation of her coworkers.
Relief swelled in her chest when she caught sight of the Others Defense Office, but just as she reached for the door, a hand grabbed her from behind. Her fangs pulsed for a half-second before she swallowed her instinctive reaction.
It was Ebrey Carlson, a Vampire Judiciary paralegal. Her brown eyes snapped, flickers of yellow fire bursting in her irises. She tucked a dark curl behind one ear, shifting from one foot to the other several times, clearly upset about something.
“Alena, what moron thought it would be a good idea to give Devon Sinclair a case for judgment in front of a Triune for a vampire?”
Alena gaped. “What!”
See, this was the crap that happened when she was late.
“That’s what I said,” Ebrey huffed, throwing her hands in the air. “There has to be a mistake. Sinclair’s a wolf, for blood’s sake, and he hasn’t even passed the bar yet. The client will never see daylight again, guilty or not, with that puppy repping him. Was someone asleep when the assignments were handed out?”
“Well, I certainly didn’t assign him any cases, so it must have been Odofin,” Alena replied grimly. “I can’t imagine why. Hell, I’d do a better job than Devon, and I’m just Odofin’s assistant.”
Ebrey frowned. “Girl, don’t get down on yourself. You have more experience than most of the actual lawyers here, even if you’re still a law student. That poor sap would be a thousand times better off with you than Devon. I mean, come on, he couldn’t even get into OC Law School. He went through the human education system.”
Warmth from borrowed blood flooded Alena’s cheeks
at the compliment. It wasn’t really in her nature to toot her own horn, so she relied on supportive friends and colleagues to remind her that she wasn’t a total loser—even if she felt like one most of the time.
“Guess I’d better ask Odofin about it,” she sighed and turned toward the door once again, but Ebrey stopped her again.
“Not if you want the defendant to have a fighting chance. The Triune’s already been convened.”
“Are you shitting me? How did this happen? I checked the schedule this morning before I left and Devon wasn’t even slated to assist anyone, let alone open for a case.”
Ebrey gave her a helpless shrug.
“By the blood, if Devon screws this up…” Alena glanced at the door one more time and then turned on her heel and headed back toward the elevators.
“Wait, are you going up there?” Ebrey asked, eyes wide with surprise while she hurried to keep up.
“Of course, I am. I didn’t join the Others Defense Office for the fame and fortune, my friend. I want to make sure everyone who needs a defense lawyer gets one. A good one. Not some wolf shifter with a store-bought degree from a no-name human school. Everyone knows Harbor Law School hands out degrees to whoever has a fat checkbook.”
“Harvard,” Ebrey corrected.
Alena flapped an unconcerned hand. “Whatever. They got nothing on Othercross University.”
Coincidentally, Alena’s university.
“Won’t Odofin be pissed that you’re interfering with his assignments? Not to mention being hella late for work?”
Alena mentally remapped her entire evening as they rushed back to the elevators, not bothering with clicking her heels this time. First, she’d do what she could to help the defendant and then she’d deal with her boss. He couldn’t yell at her for being late if she was off cleaning up his mess.
“Right now, I don’t really care.” She jabbed the up button. “I’ll happily face his wrath once I’m sure Devon’s not going to screw the client sideways with his ineptitude.”
“Dude, it was nice working with you.”
Alena scowled at her friend. “Thanks a lot,” she drawled.
The doors opened and released a gaggle of vampires. Alena scurried on and realized she had no idea where she was going.
“Which courtroom?” she raised her voice over the crowd so Ebrey could hear her.
“Eight. Do you need my help?”
“No, I’ll handle this. I’ll get in, request a recess and a reassignment of counsel, and get out with my hand wrapped around Devon’s furry neck. He should know better.”
Ebrey saluted Alena as the doors closed, leaving her to her thoughts—primarily centered around what the hell Odofin had been thinking. After being his assistant for the last twenty years or so, she’d earned his trust in assigning the cases they received. Sure, he still dabbled in them occasionally, but he mostly left it to Alena to handle. He had better things to do, such as sucking up to high-ranking politicians. Alena couldn’t remember a time when he’d messed up so royally though.
The doors opened on the crowded eighth floor. She barely managed an insincere apology as she pushed through a group of people standing in the middle of the hall like they owned the area. She almost knocked a stack of files out of the arms of the same wild-eyed, wild-haired paralegal as earlier. Oops.
Dammit, who used paper these days, anyway? Everything should be digitized by now. But nooo, the uppers were still stuck in the ‘80s—maybe the 1880s—not quite realizing a few decades had passed and computers were officially A Thing now.
Ironic that she wished for the mystery client’s hardcopy case file as she rushed toward Courtroom Eight, trying not to sweat blood-tinged stains on her blouse. Good thing it was already red.
Alena stopped in her tracks and took a deep, calming breath. No matter how crazy the situation, the Triune wouldn’t look kindly on her bursting into the courtroom in a fit of pique. Calm. Professional. Courteous. Not cra—
The scent registered a split second later, taking with it all thoughts of calm and professional.
Dizziness washed over her in an awful moment of disorientation—one when she could have been a snack for any passing predator. She’d been drunk before. She’d been high. She’d lost herself to the throes of passion, both during sex and during bloodlust as she drank down the rich, hot nectar of a willing donor. All of it—and none of it—described the fire that rushed through her veins.
Alena doubled over, hands on her knees, panting heavily, and then forced herself to straighten as her head cleared. It all happened in the space of a few seconds, even though it felt like an eternity.
Dark chocolate, peppercorns, and the aroma of a gently burning fire imprinted on her soul—smoky and spicy with the hint of bitter sweetness. Every instinct demanded she find the owner of the scent. Abandon all tasks and responsibilities and claim what—who—belonged to her.
She’d never experienced anything like it, but Alena knew instinctively what it was, beyond any doubt. The connection to her beloved, the one chance she would have in her immortal life to find a true mate.
Alena hesitated for another moment, torn between following what every cell in her body screamed for her to do, and duty. The scent was strong and unfading, which suggested her beloved wasn’t moving away from her. Or toward her. In fact, he wasn’t moving at all.
Eyes narrowed, she propelled herself forward, realizing the scent intensified with each step she took closer to Courtroom Eight. She stared at the ornately carved wooden doors, certainty heavy in her gut. Her beloved was inside, among those attending the trial. A witness? A reporter? A family member of the accused, or maybe even the victim?
The possibilities, and each of their inevitable complications, ran through her mind as she heaved open one of the massive doors. Well, nothing worth having was ever easy. If her beloved was connected to the defendant or the victim, she would recuse herself from any work on the case. After ensuring a competent attorney had taken Devon’s place.
Slipping just inside the doors, she scanned the handful of people in the courtroom. The Triune judges—all of whom she recognized—filed onto the dais in their regal purple robes as Devon Sinclair spoke with his client.
On the prosecution’s side sat one of Alena’s relatives she didn’t really know, other than by reputation. Malone Falkov, her second cousin twice removed, if she had her vampiric family tree correct. As humans, they didn’t share a drop of the same blood, but as vampires, they were somehow connected. Distantly, thank goodness. He was a shark of a prosecutor.
Behind Malone sat his immediate superior, Gretchen Bubák—no doubt sent to babysit Alena’s relative. Malone had a earned a reputation as a hothead, and she’d heard he was on the verge of being sacked from OCVJ—Othercross Vampire Judiciary. Strange that he’d be prosecuting any case. Maybe it was his last chance to prove himself.
She recognized every guard and the handful of people sitting watching the proceedings from the cheap seats. The only person she didn’t know was the man sitting at Devon Sinclair’s side—in the chair reserved for the accused. Alena’s brain churned quickly to find any reason—other than the most obvious—that a person would sit in that particular chair.
There was none. And the scent trail led directly to him.
The defendant was her beloved.
Fucking figured.
See, this was the crap that happened when she was late.
Chapter Two
Luca listened to the nasal drone of his court-appointed attorney’s voice and idly considered ripping out the wolf’s throat. He’d never been one for casual violence—in Luca’s opinion, it was the mark of a crude intellect—but he might make an exception in this case. He’d expected to be assigned a lawyer and instead had been given a puppy.
“Their case is clear cut,” Sinclair whispered as he rifled through a sheaf of papers in front of him.
He had arranged them in fussy stacks forming a neat square. By type? By date? Who knew? Furthermore, who c
ared?
Luca touched the tip of his tongue to a canine, coaxing it to remain sheathed even though the werewolf next to him made his fangs itch for freedom.
“The prosecution has a half-dozen witnesses to dispute your alibi, such as it is,” Sinclair sniffed. “Doesn’t look good for you, Mr. Ravenna.”
The man, such as he was, didn’t seem all that upset about Luca’s situation.
“And you’re content to suffer such a loss without even trying to mount a defense?” Luca asked coolly.
Sinclair shrugged. “Not much we can do. Like I said, the witnesses—”
“Are lying.”
“Says you. And since your alibi for that night is that you were out walking alone…” He shrugged again and Luca’s fangs descended. Just a bit.
“It’s fascinating how the prosecution has somehow managed to bring to trial a crime I didn’t commit.”
One he had, in fact, witnessed being committed by a Falkov. Not that his lawyer or the Triune would believe him.
Sinclair didn’t bother trying to hide his doubt. “Yeah, well…”
Luca turned his attention from Sinclair to the Triune judges taking their seats on the raised dais at the front of the courtroom and considered his chances of avoiding a guilty conviction.
This wasn’t the first time he’d faced a Triune, a trio of judges that represented each supernatural species—vampire, shifter and arcane—and adjudicated infractions against the law. He doubted it would be the last. But judging by his attorney’s distinct lack of concern, it most likely would be the first time he was convicted and sentenced, especially considering the judges themselves.
Aya Holloway was small and thin, with long white hair that attested to her advanced age. She notoriously avoided conflict of any kind and would vote with the majority to avoid the stress of disagreement.
