Love's First Bite: Bad Boys and Alpha Vampires Boxed Set (6 book bundle)

by Eden, Cynthia

  “Your Highness.” He turned at the sound of the wavering voice. His hands clenched on the head of his cane, it was essential now that he had destroyed the room. There were obstacles in his way that hadn’t been there before, and she was no longer present to light the darkness. “There is no sign of them outside of the palace walls.”

  “Of course there isn’t,” Braith sneered. Jericho was smart, he was quick, and he would be far from here by now. Using his cane, Braith maneuvered his way through the shattered remains of his furniture. His display of temper and destruction could be blamed on the fact that his brother had stolen his blood slave; all of his kind would understand the betrayal, the insult to his pride, and the denial of his toy. But as he stopped in the doorway of his bedroom, he knew that it was far more than that.

  The scent of her blood assailed him; it burned into his nostrils, flared through his body, and caused an aching hunger to explode throughout him. She had been so magnificent, so free and giving last night and so delectably satisfying. Her blood was delicious, it had filled him and nourished him in a way that he had never felt before. In fact, he had been so swept away by it that he had nearly destroyed them both. He had wanted her with him, forever; he had been consumed with the compulsion to change her, to have her for eternity. It was an insane idea, and thankfully he had regained control of himself before he had pushed her into a place that few ever came back from. Very few humans had ever survived the change. He had been so consumed by her that he’d nearly ended her life. In all of his many years he had never been so careless, never been so out of control with his thirst.

  But even more potent than her blood, had been her words. Whispered words of love repeated over and over again as she had embraced him. Words he had never heard before, but had relished and believed in them. Just as he had believed her vow to never leave him, to stay with him always.

  Lies, it had all been lies, and he’d been the fool that believed them. Now he almost wished that he had killed her; he wished that he had never given her the opportunity to betray him like this. He fought the urge to smash his cane off the wall. He wanted to rip his brother limb from limb, he wanted to grab her and shake her, make her tell him why she had offered her blood to him, why she had told him she loved him, and then left him the very next morning. It was the treachery that made him angriest, the treachery that made him yearn to hunt them down and destroy them. And he could, he could find her so easily.

  He could track her through her precious woods, seize hold of her, drag her back here, and lock her away for the rest of her miserable life. He could make her pay dearly for her betrayal, make his brother pay. He could make both of their lives a living hell if he chose to. He could destroy them, ruin them completely. Arianna may not have realized that due to his blood in her veins he could now find her whenever he chose, but his brother should have known better. Jericho should have known that Braith would come after them, and that he would make Jericho pay for helping her, and make her pay for her lies.

  “The other blood slave?” he demanded as he turned back to the servant.

  He could hear the man shifting nervously; feel the panic coming off of him. “Is also gone your majesty.”

  Rage suffused him once more; he couldn’t stop himself from smashing his cane off the wall. The impact jarred through his hand, the cane shattered, sending pieces of debris flying. He wasn’t sure if it was Keegan, or the servant that yelped in response. Braith stood for a moment, shaking with anger, barely able to keep his fury under control.

  “Get me a new cane,” he snarled.

  The servant scrambled away, his feet cluttered over the debris. Braith stood for awhile, trying to regain control of himself and his wildly swinging emotions. It was awhile before he felt calm enough to move again without ripping something to shreds. It took even longer before he could take a new cane from the servant, without being worried that he might kill the innocent man.

  “We’ll go after them, we’ll make them pay.” Braith turned at the sound of Caleb’s voice. It was funny that just yesterday Jericho had been his favorite, now he despised him even more than he ever could have disliked Caleb. “There are already men gathering to hunt them down.”

  Braith remained silent for a moment, he could find her in a matter of hours, but he found himself remaining where he was. He didn’t want that traitorous bitch back in his life, didn’t ever want to see her again. He preferred his world of blackness to the sight of her disloyal, hideous face. She had wanted her freedom so badly that she had lied and manipulated for it, as far as he was concerned she could have it. She could have her starvation and cold, her misery and dirt; she could have everything that she craved.

  He wanted nothing to do with her anymore, and wouldn’t stand in her way.

  “Jericho has been labeled a traitor.”

  “He is,” Braith growled.

  “There is a large bounty on his head; it shouldn’t be long before one of the starving masses turns him in. I am sure that the other two slaves will be in his vicinity, and I am also certain that he will turn on them as swiftly as he turned on us when we find him.”

  Braith nodded, he wrapped both his hands around the head of his new cane. “If he is found, he will be brought to me, alive. All of them are to be brought to me.”

  “Of course,” Caleb murmured in assent.

  Braith leaned back, closing his eyes as he tried not to think about the depth of her betrayal. He wouldn’t hunt them down, he wouldn’t go into the woods after the two people he had come to rely on, and trust, the most. But if they were captured and brought back here, he would be the one to make sure that Jericho was destroyed, and he would be the one to personally hand her over to Caleb. Then he would sit back, and relish in the sounds of her screams as Caleb did what he did best.

  Until then, he was going to gorge himself on as much blood as it took to help him forget this horrendous mess. He moved toward Caleb, finally beginning to understand his brother’s cruelty and hatred as those emotions took root in his gut, spread through his chest, and buried him beneath their crushing weight. He had never experienced these emotions to this degree before, never knew that it was possible to do so until now. But he relished in the hatred and bloodlust consuming him, they were the only things that helped to bury his betrayal and hurt. “Clean this mess up,” he barked at the servant.

  Keegan padded after Braith, following him down to the dungeons. The wolf had never been here, it had been years since Braith had been down here, mainly because he despised it. Now he found himself craving it, needing it, desiring it with a ferocity that left him shaken. He threw the doors to the dungeons open, the scent of humans and dread assaulted him. These were the blood slaves of the royal family, at least until they were drained dry, and discarded to make room for others.

  He moved quickly through, stopping only briefly to pick out three women from behind the bars. He didn’t know what they looked like, but the scent of their blood was not as repulsive to him as some of the others. “Have them cleaned and brought to me,” he commanded the guards.

  He may not have Arianna now, but he was going to satisfy himself, and attempt to ease some of his pulsating bloodlust. It was not lost on him that a skinny wisp of a girl had managed to do in one month what his father had failed for over nine hundred years to accomplish. She had succeeded in turning him into a coldhearted, blood thirsty monster.

  The Captive Series

  Captured (Book 1)

  Renegade (Book2)

  Refugee (Book 3)

  Salvation (Book 4)

  The Kindred Series

  Kindred (Book 1)

  Ashes (Book 2)

  Kindled (Book 3)

  Inferno (Book 4)

  Phoenix Rising (Book 5)

  The Ravening Series

  Ravenous (Book 1)

  Taken Over (Book 2)

  Reclamation (Book 3)

  The Survivor Chronicles

  Book 1: The Upheaval

  Book 2: The Divide
>
  About the Author

  Website: https://ericastevensauthor.com/home.html

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ - !/ericastevens679

  Blog: http://ericasteven.blogspot.com/

  Twitter: @EricaStevensCGP

  Mailing list: ericastevensgcp@gmail.com

  PARIS AFTER DARK

  by

  Jordan Summers

  *

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Jordan Summers

  Paris After Dark

  Copyright © 2009 by Jordan Summers

  *

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should visit to jordansummers.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  *

  ONE

  Rachel Chang pinched the cigarette between her lips and reached into her pocket for her lighter. Five years of being nicotine free was about to go up in smoke, if she could just get this damn thing to light. She flicked the Zippo, brought the flame to the tip and inhaled, then proceeded to choke. Eyes watering, Rachel flicked the cigarette onto the sidewalk and stubbed it out with her toe as a high-pitched scream pierced the night.

  One hand moved to where her weapon should be, while the other automatically reached for the St. Michael medal dangling from a chain around her neck. For a moment Rachel saw her partner lying in a puddle of blood. He looked up at her.

  “Why didn’t you help me?” he gasped, then dragged himself toward her. His body scraped across the pavement, leaving a crimson trail behind. “You should’ve been the one to die that day. Not me.” He glared at her through eyes as black as tar pits.

  Rachel’s heart thundered in her chest and her vision swam. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “It’s not real. You’re not real.” The panic attack eased and she opened her eyes once more. This wasn’t New York. And this wasn’t her problem. Let someone else clean up the mess for a change.

  A second scream followed the first, then ended abruptly. There could be a lot of reasons for that—none of them good. Rachel remained immobile while her conscience called her every foul name in the book. Unfortunately, the voice in her head wasn’t loud enough to drown out the struggle she could hear taking place on the dimly lit road off Boulevard Raspail. She swore, then headed in the direction of the sound.

  “You have no authority here. You don’t even speak French. Let the Parisian police handle it,” Rachel muttered under her breath as she came upon a dark-haired man grappling with a woman. Rachel couldn’t see her face, but the black scarf around her head loosened and fell to the ground, exposing long blonde hair. The woman’s thin pale arms flailed as she beat at the man’s broad shoulders with her clenched fists.

  The man wasn’t striking her back, but he held the woman tight to deflect her blows. If she was hurting him, he didn’t show it. He seemed too focused on what he was doing to notice.

  At first glance, it looked like a typical domestic dispute. Only a fool got in the middle of those. They were more dangerous than a gang shootout. Victims often turned on their rescuers. Rachel had been foolish once and it had cost her dearly. Never again. She shoved her hands in her pockets and kept walking. Her booted feet thudded on the sidewalk as she continued on.

  She passed the street and saw a sign for the Cimetiere du Montparnasse affixed to a high gray brick wall. No matter where she wandered death followed. Rachel glanced at the sky. With all the lights in Paris, it was hard to see the stars. “Trying to tell me something, partner?”

  The blood roared in her ears as she waited for some kind of sign—anything that would let her know that he was still around. Of course Paul didn’t answer. No one did. Like the residents of the fancy French cemetery, he was dead, his body rotting in a grave back in New York. All that was left were her memories of the man who’d saved her ass more times than she could remember, and the St. Michael medal around her neck.

  The patron saint must have been on a coffee break the day her partner caught a bullet in the chest—a bullet that was meant for her. Rachel felt like that bullet had been chasing her ever since. She rubbed the spot over her heart, but the ache refused to fade.

  Rachel glanced at the cemetery wall once more, then asked herself what Paul would do. The answer was obvious. She cursed long and hard, then tromped back to the mouth of the street. This was a bad idea. Her gun and NYPD badge currently resided an ocean away inside her Captain’s desk. She’d have to count on the man fleeing when she confronted him. As plans went, it sucked. Rachel ran the odds of that occurring in her head mumbled a fresh string of expletives.

  The woman no longer struggled and now hung loosely in the man’s arms. Had he struck her after she left? Rachel hated bullies. Hated people who thought their size gave them free reign to do as they pleased.

  “Hey buddy,” she shouted, making sure she used her cop voice.

  The dark-haired man didn’t acknowledge her, but Rachel saw his broad shoulders tense.

  “Yeah, I’m talking to you. Parlez-vous…Anglais?” Did it matter if he spoke English? Not really. Some things were universal. “Let the woman go,” Rachel ordered, wishing she’d paid attention to the French CD’s she’d checked out of the library.

  The man slowly turned to look at her.

  Rachel caught a glimpse of shimmering green eyes. The color was so unnatural it couldn’t possibly be found outside the animal kingdom. Had to be contact lenses. It was the only thing that made sense. But it wasn’t his eyes that held her in place. It was his teeth—his long, very sharp, very bloody teeth.

  She reeled back. What kind of freak was she dealing with here?

  Rachel watched the blood drip down his chin onto his dark suit before he stepped back into the shadows, dragging the woman with him. What in the hell had he been doing to her? When she’d walked by earlier it had looked like the woman was the aggressor. She’d been wrong…again.

  How many people had to die for her to get it right?

  She automatically catalogued the scene, so she could give her statement to the police later. Rachel could see the man moving around in the shadows, but couldn’t tell what he was doing. “Come out with your hands up!” she shouted.

  He stepped into the pale yellow pool of light coming from the lamppost. The woman was still in his arms. Her blonde hair shrouded her face as he slowly released her. She slumped to the ground like discarded rags. Rachel couldn’t tell if she was breathing. She couldn’t afford to take her eyes off the perp. The man grinned, flashing those macabre, blood-covered teeth. His attention was now riveted on her.

  She tried to get a good look at his face, but the shadows kept shifting. Rachel knew the fact she was a petite Chinese-American woman made her look like an easy target, but her size was deceptive.

  “The police are on their way.” She pointed to the sidewalk. “Get down on the ground.”

  If the dark-haired man understood her, he didn’t let on. He kept approaching at a steady pace. He was almost at the mouth of the side street. She should be able to see his face by now, but the shadows seemed to follow him, obscuring his pale features. It struck her as odd, but ultimately it didn’t matter. Rachel was sure she could identify him from his eyes alone, although they didn’t seem as bright as they’d been moments ago. Must’ve been a trick of the light.

  “Stay back,” she said. “This is your last warning.” Rachel held her hands up like her Krav Maga instructor taught her to do. It looked like a defensive posture. It wasn’t.

  The man smiled, giving her an up close and personal look at his nasty mouth. He had abnormally long incisors that ended in jagged points. A chill snaked down her spine. He used his blood-covered tongue to caress his teeth as he closed the distan
ce between them.

  Give an asshole prosthetic fangs and a dose of bath salts, and he thinks he’s a fucking vampire.

  Rachel took a step back. She didn’t dare look over her shoulder. He’d be on her before she could make it twenty yards. She needed to draw someone’s attention. Someone who’d call the police. The man must’ve read her mind because in a blink he went from ten feet away to in her face.

  She didn’t have time to scream. He slammed into her, lifting her off the ground. Rachel flew through the air and hit the high wall surrounding the cemetery. The air rushed out of her lungs with a loud whoosh as pain radiated through her body. She slid down the wall and landed with a sickening thud.

  Rachel blinked to clear her vision. The perp growled low in his throat as he approached. When he was within arms length, his coppery breath fanned out over her face, gagging her. The shadows still obscured his features. She brushed at them, but they refused to move. Logic told her it wasn’t possible. What in the hell was he?

  You probably just hit your head too hard. Yeah, that made sense. He’d rung her bell pretty good.

  The guttural sounds grew louder.

  Instinct made Rachel throw her hand up a second before he attacked. The man’s teeth clamped onto her forearm like a pit-bull. Her leather jacket ripped. He tore through the thick material as if it were made of butterfly wings. His sharp incisors punctured her skin. The excruciating pain snapped her out of her initial shock.

  Rachel drove her palm into her attacker’s nose and heard something crunch, then saw blood splatter across his face. He reeled back in shock. She wasn’t sure who was more surprised. Her hand came away covered in crimson. Rachel swung at him again, but her blood-slick palm only grazed his cheek.