by Kyla Riley
Conn had seen the flyer at Starbucks. He frequented there simply to people watch and enjoy a frappe every once in a while. He barely remembered being as young and foolish as some of the people were… to him, Conn had always been a bitter, broken, old man. For some people their guilty pleasures were chocolate, others were enjoying hard candy, but for this lonely vamp… he adored splurging himself on a salted caramel Frappuccino with extra whipped cream.
And sprinkles… mustn’t forget the sprinkles.
Glancing at the fascinating woman, he knew he was staring and couldn’t help himself. She was stunning. He watched as she raised her hand to salute him. She did an about face that caused her thick mane of hair to swish as she walked up to the stage and started her presentation.
Jack the Ripper was the name that the English population had dubbed him long ago. He didn’t think he would ever forget that horrifying night and it haunted him almost every month as he worried that he would lose control again. He’d settled into a pattern where the gripping pain and raw hunger was almost manageable if he fed upon stray animals, the homeless or nursing homes.
One elderly lady had dubbed him the angel of death because when he came by to play dominos with them, almost always someone passed away. He hated that nickname but if they weren’t screaming in horror, that meant he was able to control himself enough to prevent it from looking like a massacre. He always struggled and fought for control both mentally and physically. In his mind, he needed to make sure that it was peaceful if they passed away. He would give into the guilt he felt later when he was alone.
He shook his head at the idle thoughts. Conn took a seat at the back of the room to listen to his own dark angel speak. Her voice was clear and strong; the determination was evident in her voice that she was out to prove a point. Conn almost felt like she was talking to him at several times during her lecture, which made his skin crawl thinking that she was singling him out. How could she know it had been him all those years ago? Listening, he was shocked at her bold words and the conviction behind them.
“… the truth of the matter is this: if you analyze each death, each body with their location and the magnitude of destruction, it is evident that it was not the same person that performed each ritual killing. In fact, after careful examination and study I believe that Mary Ann Nichols was the exception to the rule when it comes to Jack the Ripper. I know there is rumor of the five killings and later claims that bring the totals up to eleven, however the patterns are not the same. With Nichols, there is no pattern.”
“What are you saying?” Conn blurted out from the back of the room before he realized he was speaking.
“What I am trying to expand upon is that I happen to believe that with the patterns on the bodies, the eviscerations and the locations that the bodies were found don’t add up. I believe that Nichols was killed by someone else. There were markings at the throat that did not match the jagged wounds to her abdomen. The blood present was congealed, making the forensic reports state that she was not killed where she was found. It’s not making sense and doesn’t correlate with the rest of the corpses. The other killings had organs or limbs removed all together, but with Nichols this was not the case.”
“So, you think some mystery man brutally killed this woman and that someone else massacred the other ten bodies?”
“I think that the man described by the police was in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Perhaps he was trying to protect Nichols or came upon her after her death.”
“And I happen to believe that it was a monster that did it and you are trying to romanticize the story with some fabricated tale,” Conn said bluntly, holding her angry gaze as she glared at him. He was still healing from those brutal murders, a festering wound reopened each time he lost control feeding.
“The facts state…” she began and he interrupted again. He could not let himself open up to the fact that she could be right, that perhaps there was a glimpse of hope that he had not slaughtered those innocent women and children in cold blood.
“The facts state that they were struck down brutally in the streets of London and that the killer got away with murder. What does it matter if it was one or seven different killers? The fact of the matter is that whoever did it- escaped their punishment and can only be judged by God and their own guilty conscience.”
3
Daphne stared at the gorgeous man in angry silence. Romanticized? Fabricated tale? She knew that she could possibly be the laughing stock of the college, but for some reason the fact that there was a mental match of wits between her and Fabio at the back of the lecture hall just pissed her off to no end. She could practically see the other professors’ heads volleying back and forth as they challenged each other verbally.
“Your notes are superb and historical facts are on par with any expert on the Ripper, but you have got to understand that a monster did this- and got away.”
“What if there was an innocent bystander that came upon the bodies and was spotted?”
“That sounds like a murder mystery novel.”
“Or a Romanticized tale?”
“Precisely.”
“So, there is no room for error then? People are perfect and never make mistakes?” Daphne questioned, trying to keep her frustration out of her voice. It took everything she had to hold her temper in check. The man would not get the better of her and if she found out that he was from another college? She would make it a personal vendetta to ruin one of his lectures in return for this debacle.
“I didn’t say that.”
“No, but what you are saying is that the police are perfect, the eyewitness accounts are flawless and one brilliant man masterminded this entire fiasco in different parts of town at a variety of time frames with multiple atrocities performed? And this was all one single man?”
“No, I said it was a monster.”
“The boogeyman? Swamp thing? Perhaps it was El Chupacabra?” Daphne said mockingly from the stage, her eyebrow arching as she saw that the man was getting angry at being provoked. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes pierced hers with a fierceness that made the woman in her stop and take notice.
He was even more gorgeous when he was angry.
She knew without a doubt that this man was a ‘panty-melter’ just like what was described in the romance books she read. In that moment as she stared at him, she had a glimpse of what it might be like to have angry, raw sex with him and her knees nearly buckled. Horrified, Daphne saw his nostrils flare with intensity as he got to his feet. OMG, please tell me he can’t read my mind, she thought mortified.
“A vampire killed them a long time ago,” he retorted scathingly. His shoulders were tight with frustration and she could practically see that his control was perilously close to snapping. The man did not like to be challenged or be proven wrong publicly – yet he just announced to the room that a vampire was Jack the Ripper. A few snickers of laughter echoed in the silence of the room and for a moment, Daphne felt bad for the handsome twerp. He’d challenged her and she’d won.
“And with that announcement gentleman? I rest my case. Thank you for coming and if you’ll grab a packet you can see my detailed notes and thesis to support my theory of…” her voice trailed off for a moment as she looked to see the gorgeous man leaving the room.
“…Multiple killers,” she finished lamely.
For the first time ever, Daphne did not enjoy being right this time around even if it meant validation in her peers’ eyes. Gathering up her notes, she thanked several people as they came up to the stage. She was grateful to see that her theory wasn’t chastised or shot down as quickly as what she suspected; instead she could tell that there was enough evidence presented to support what she believed.
As the last of the people filed out of the room, Daphne let out a large sigh of mental exhaustion. Battling wits with the blond beefcake publicly was tough stuff. When she looked at him, the brilliant analyst was gone and in its place was a vapid, mindless woman that seriously wanted
to get boned.
“Good golly- I need a stiff drink,” she whispered to herself and shut off the lights. Her heels clacking down the hallway, she marched straight to her office and quickly shut the door behind her, sighing. The leather-bound books on the wooden shelves and stained-glass window made her office feel as if it was something from the middle ages. Dust motes danced on beams of light and if someone had called out Rapunzel… she’d have let down her hair, panties, and skirt at that moment.
“You can’t go around spouting off nonsense like that,” a husky voice said softly from the dim shadows of her office. Daphne yelped and darted to the side, quickly putting her desk between her and …. the beefcake? Her mouth dropped open as she saw the tall man from the presentation step forward into the light. He was devastatingly gorgeous, even more so up close. She could see a faint shadow on his jaw that made her purr at the thought of touching him.
“You claimed it was a vampire!” she retorted loudly and then lowered her voice. “Which one of us was talking nonsense- eh? How did you get in here anyways?”
“The door,” he snapped back quietly, moving slowly towards her. Daphne took a step backwards and he stopped immediately. They stood there for several minutes measuring each other up silently as if to see who would move first or speak first.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“I’m curious.”
“About?”
“About you. Your thought patterns are strange to think that it could have been a mistake or a single killer. I don’t understand why you would even suspect that,” he whispered softly, almost as if speaking to himself. There was something in his voice that pulled at her, as if he yearned for her suspicions to be true? Why would it matter to him or anyone else for that matter?
“Well I think your thoughts about a vampire doing it are coo-coo-ka-choo, buster. You’ve got strange thought patterns too, if we are being honest about it.”
“There’s something about you that…” he grew silent and stood there, looking lost. His dark eyes looked away and part of her wanted to comfort him.
“What’s your name?” she whispered, suddenly struck by the fact that she indescribably wanted to know who he was and find out more about him. Was he new here? He had the most beautiful accent and she couldn’t place it. His voice was warm and rolled over her, giving her goosebumps.
“Conn Cael – and you lovely lass? What’s your name?”
“You don’t know from the presentation?”
“I didn’t look,” he said softly, looking slightly sheepish.
“It’s Daphne Gentry.”
“Beautiful Daphne, it was a pleasure to meet you, but your theories undo so much that you just don’t know- don’t understand. Please, let the past go and find something else to study.”
“Why?”
Conn seemed to move in the blink of an eye and was suddenly standing mere inches from her. His hands grasped her shoulders as he leaned forward, his lips touching hers. It only took a moment for her body to register what her mind had yet to process – and she found her arms winding around his shoulders, clinging to him.
Conn’s kiss was decadent and his lips were domineering, parting her own as his tongue swept across hers – tasting and claiming her mouth for his own. There was a heat to his body that made her want to press her own against him. She’d never been kissed so possessively before in her life and knew nothing would compare to it ever again. He broke the kiss as she stood there in a stupor in his arms. His warm breath caressed her cheek and tickled her ear.
“Because I am the vampire,” he whispered and before Daphne could react, she felt a prick against her neck and a flush of heat in her loins, moments before she blacked out in complete shock.
4
Conn stared down at the beautiful woman in his arms with something akin to horror and shock. Was she dead? Had he done it all over again unwillingly? The thought of crushing such a beautiful creature for no reason made him feel sick. He stared at her, shook her slightly and beat back the dread filling him. At first, he was terrified that he’d killed someone again with his hungers, his desires, but as he looked upon her- he was humbled by something else he could feel blooming inside of him.
Daphne Gentry was breathtaking.
His eyes memorized her features, even the mark on the side of her neck - where he had sampled her blood didn’t detract from her – it only added to his desire and need for her. Surprised, amused, and relieved, Conn saw that she was breathing but unconscious and realized that she had simply passed out.
He could only imagine what a revelation like his could do to her, a woman so focused on facts and unraveling issues. He hoped that by telling her the truth, revealing who he was would get her to drop any further investigation into his past. Conn had finally begun to sleep again without nightmares every single night. He couldn’t go back to reliving that horror over and over again. He was finally healing and accepting that he couldn’t fight the creature he’d become, the freakish monster that he’d been turned into.
Tenderly, Conn scooped up the limp, fragile female and laid her down gently on the enlarged chair in the corner of her office. He took the throw on the arm of the chair and lightly draped it across her. He thought about waiting until she came to, but he didn’t want to frighten her again and truthfully- he didn’t know if he could handle what she represented to his dark, lonely existence… hope. Daphne gave him hope that maybe he might not have killed all those women in his bloodlust, that perhaps he wasn’t the nightmarish creature he believed himself to be.
That beautiful kiss between them, the unexpectedness of it and the tender heat, made him realize that if there was a woman for his brother, Niall – then perhaps there could possibly be someone who would put up with him. Caressing her hair and leaning down to kiss her cheek, Conn finally backed away and shook his head.
He shouldn’t have kissed her and he couldn’t allow himself to reach for the light. He didn’t deserve it and was serving his penance right now, his punishment for refusing to honor his new stepmother and trying to drive a wedge between his parents. The beautiful lass deserved better than a wretched, broken, lonely man. Conn locked the office door and closed it behind him. The finality of the door lock clicking into place sounded almost like a gunshot in the silence of the hallway.
Walking away from her office was one of the hardest things Conn had done and he barely knew the woman. He’d felt a horrible sensation leaving the small auditorium as she’d spoken. He knew that there was something about Daphne that was vitally important to him, he just didn’t know what yet.
As he stepped away, he felt the same feelings in his gut once again. Leaving her was wrong, he felt it- but in his mind it was the best thing for them both. Conn would only endanger her and that was something he could not do. He would have to be content with the tiniest grasp of heaven that came with tasting her lips and her blood.
* * *
Daphne awoke some time later and stretched her arms over her head leisurely before she remembered what had happened. At first she had thought she’d fallen asleep but then as she thought back over the day, it all came flooding back. Conn had kissed her! He didn’t ask for permission or wait, instead he stepped forward and took what he wanted. That heated kiss had made her heart pound heavily and her mind spin with desire, but it was his words that had clenched it for her.
Because I am the vampire, he’d said and Daphne had felt a hot pain on her neck. She threw off the tiny blanket and ran for her desk drawer to pull out a compact mirror. Looking inside she was relieved that she had a reflection first off… and secondly, there was the mark – Conn’s mark- on her neck. Two tiny puncture marks were there and looked to be almost healed except for a slight bruising. He’d bitten her, tasted her, drank from her!
Would she turn into a vampire now? Did she crave blood? Standing there silently, she took inventory of herself for a moment. She ran her tongue over her teeth, pushing hard against them as if they were spring-loaded. Had h
e taken advantage of her? Did she want him to? How exactly did any of this work?
Everything felt normal in her and she felt a keen disappointment. She was the same and he was obviously a gentleman because nothing else had been touched – and she would know. What would it be like to be touched by the gorgeous man? His kiss had been so unexpected and full of the promise of more behind it. She was a virgin, so it would hurt somewhere if he’d done some hanky-panky… wouldn’t it?
Embarrassed at her line of thought and the unspoken rejection, Daphne gathered up her purse and hurriedly left her office behind to hide at home. She had dealt with enough for the day and it was time to unwind. There was a hot bubble bath and a glass of wine calling her name at home!
Hours later, Daphne was still thinking of that heated kiss. He’d rocked her world with the touch of his lips and the admission of being a vampire. It was a crazy and insane notion, but obviously true. The marks were now gone, but the feel of it stuck in her mind. The way they could talk… cough… argue with each other didn’t detract from his appeal.
It increased it.
She loved smart men. She’d dated a few guys in the past that pretended to be history buffs but when she tried to engage them in intellectual conversation, it always revealed the truth. The guys she’d gone out with weren’t what they seemed and were intimidated by a smart woman. Most dates ended the same: dropped off at the curb and no phone calls returned.
Somehow, she knew deep in her mind and in her heart that Conn would show up again. There had been a sense of desire or urgency about him, a desperation for more. He wanted her to back off of the subject, but why? Why did it bother him so much? If vampires were killers, why wasn’t she dead? How come he looked like he was remorseful about the killings done under the guise of Jack the Ripper?
