Age of Vampyre Series Box Set

by Sophia North

  The things one does to save a few quid.

  Penny shivered and pulled the lapels of her dark grey wool coat together to ward off the cold. She was tempted to pull the fur-lined hood of her vintage winter coat over her head, but worried she'd look ridiculous. It was London for god's sake, not the Arctic Circle.

  Finally, after a good ten minute slog, the urban landscape started to look familiar. Turning up Lang Lane, Penny smiled slightly. She was one of the few humans aware this area of London was once ruled by the powerful Lang werewolf clan.

  By the goddess, how her life had changed. She'd gone from a simple human existence where creatures like vampyres and werewolves were nothing more than fiction, to a world where they'd become her day-to-day reality.

  Penny had her best friend, Simone, to thank for that. Last year, she met and fell in love with a vampyre, and in the process became one herself.

  Acceptance of the supernatural came easy for Penny. She'd long suspected there was more to this world than met the eye. Werewolves and fae folk didn't faze her one bit. Gorgeous, blonde Viking vampyres with killers bodies did. With one in particular driving her mad with desire for months.

  Vlad Barath. Best mate to Dante, Simone's husband, and all round arrogant beast.

  Theirs was a somewhat combustible relationship. At first, Vlad had pursued Penny relentlessly. Whereas she had played the cat and mouse game to perfection and resisted his advances.

  Until one night when she didn't and everything between them changed and Vlad had stayed away from her ever since.

  On the rare occasions their paths crossed, his manner was formal and distant. Problem was, this only made Penny want him more.

  Thus, the making prey turned predator - a delicious twist in roles.

  Stumbling slightly on some uneven cobbling, Penny managed to grip a nearby lamp-post to stop herself from falling. Damn high heels, she silently cursed. But without them her diminutive height would be all the more noticeable. She hated being short.

  Finding a bench nearby, Penny sat down to rub her twisted ankle. Wishing she'd not been so cheap and taken the cab all the way home, she peered down the road, hoping maybe she'd luck out and a taxi would materialise to save her the final trek. She was tantalisingly close to home but her buzz had worn off and the thought of walking any further made her feet throb. She'd willingly pay twenty quid for someone to take her the final few blocks. Sod her new year's budget resolution.

  Alas, the street was completely empty. There was not a soul, or hackney, to be seen.

  Penny sat back on the cold hard bench and sighed. If tonight was any indication of what lay ahead for the new year, it didn't bode well. Skint and in lust with a vampyre so uninterested he'd not even bothered to show up to Simone's party because she would be there, did not do much for her self-confidence.

  "Dragon, you appear to have run out of fire," an amused, rich voice spoke from the shadows.

  Penny gasped, frightened by her undetected company. "Vlad! You know I hate it when you sneak up on me. What are you doing here lurking about?"

  Vlad stepped into the light. All six foot four glorious inches of him. A shudder of desire rippled through Penny. She loved his dominating presence, it made her feel safe.

  "Business," he replied evasively.

  "At nigh on four a.m. New Year's day? Who knew, vamp business doesn't stop for the holidays?" she returned sarcastically. "Must be why you failed to make an appearance at Simone's party tonight. Or perhaps I'm reading too much into it."

  Vlad shifted uncomfortably under her scathing indictment. His obvious avoidance of her for the past few months was a subject neither of them dared to broach.

  "I doubt my absence resulted in a lack of sufficient male attention," he said, unable to hide the jealousy from his voice.

  Penny bristled at his contemptuous tone. This cold, holier-than-thou attitude of his rankled. Struggling to her feet, she tried to walk off in a huff but nearly crumpled in pain after putting weight back on her injured ankle.

  Vlad wasted no time in scooping her up in his arms, ignoring her half-hearted demands to be released immediately.

  "Dragon, it's late, you're freezing and incapable of walking,” he reminded her. “I suggest you hold on tight and cease your squawking."

  Penny had barely wrapped her arms around his neck before they were on the move at a dizzying speed. Her heart pounded in excitement at being held against his hard muscular chest.

  Arriving at her doorstep, Vlad slowly let her slide down the length of his body. The sensation, despite the thickness of their coats separating them, was incredibly electrifying. Penny slid her hands down from his neck to rest on his chest, the black leather of his full-length coat strangely soft and supple underneath her fingertips.

  Penny’s breath caught as Vlad raised her chin to stare deeply into her eyes. She could lose herself for hours in their stormy greyness.

  "Key?" he asked softy.

  'To my heart? It's yours,' she silently responded.

  Vlad felt the longing within her and tried to resist, but failed when Penny pressed her lips to his and coaxed him into returning it.

  Which he did. Most passionately.

  Pushing her against the door, Vlad held her face in his hands and deepened their kiss. He knew it was wrong. He'd vowed to stay away, and yet...here he was breaking his word.

  Fuck it. He needed her. Ached for her.

  He tried to be cold. Uninterested. But no matter how much he threw himself into his Council work or how many dangerous missions he undertook, nothing doused his desire to be near her.

  Vlad broke their kiss and stepped back. His desire had to be put back into check.

  Her lips bruised and slightly swollen from their amorous exchange, Penny wanted to cry out in frustration over his renewed distancing. She couldn't understand his reluctance to take what she was willing to freely give. Vamp-human relations were no longer banned and yet still he hesitated.

  "What is it?" she whispered, the pain in her voice evident. "Don't you want me?"

  Vlad's heart constricted. "Penny, I want you so much...but I can't..."

  Whoosh.

  He was gone.

  Happy New Year.

  Chapter One

  April 2019

  London

  THE DOORBELL RANG AT precisely eleven a.m.

  Smoothing back her wild red locks, Penny walked towards the large iron plate that passed as her front door. Casting a quick glance behind, she hoped her warehouse studio flat didn't look too much of a mess. She needed to make a sale and didn't want to come across as the complete 'starving artist' stereotype. Even though she was exactly that.

  The bank had rang again yesterday to politely enquire as to when Penny would be making her next mortgage payment. She'd missed yet another one and their patience with her was wearing thin. So much for her New Year's resolution to get on top of her finances. Things were definitely not going to plan on that front.

  Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. "Mr. Reilly, is it?" Penny greeted enthusiastically, a fake grin plastered to her pale face. Sleep had become elusive lately thanks to her money problems and...Vlad, her Viking wet dream.

  In the hall stood a most curious looking man. Short, as he was round, his thick set brow offset the beadiest eyes she'd ever seen. The man was rather repugnant and it took Penny a great amount of will power to not shudder at the sight of him.

  "Yes, yes. I am he, Reginald Reilly."

  Not waiting for the customary invitation inside, the little man barged his way into the studio. Surprised by his abrupt entry, Penny stood holding the door, half tempted to leave it open.

  Her instincts were on over-drive lately. The slightest changes in her environment set her sensitivities alight. Shaking it off, Penny closed the door and silently admonished herself over her latest irrational reaction. Turning round, she found Mr. Reilly peering intently at one of her portraits, a ridiculous looking monocle over one of his beady little eyes.

 
"Are you looking for portraiture in particular, Mr. Reilly?" she asked, trying to start some form of dialogue with the man. From the moment she'd spoken to him on the phone an uneasiness about the appointment had descended. The man claimed to be an art dealer, but Penny had never heard the name Reginald Reilly mentioned in her circles.

  He merely grunted in response.

  Great. Repugnant and a grunter. Why hadn't she listened to her instincts and refused the appointment? Penny rarely accepted cold callers but yesterday when he'd rang, her gas had just been turned off. Desperate times and all that. The cold hard fact was, she couldn't afford her instincts.

  "Puerile!" he dramatically decreed, standing back from the piece. "What else do you have to offer? My client is most particular and these simply will not do."

  Penny gaped. Sensitive to criticism, as most artists were, she'd never had someone be so brutal about her work. It was perfectly fine to not care for her style, but the man could have at least been polite about it.

  They moved in silence to her landscapes. Again, the paintings made no impression on him whatsoever. He merely shook his head with a disinterested look. The final straw came when he muttered something about her abstracts being a little too 'conventional' for his client's taste.

  Conventional! Was he trying to insult her? Penny stared into his beady little eyes and snapped, "Listen, Mr. Reilly. Abstract art is unconventional by its very nature. And my abstracts certainly do not fit the conventional tag. But then, if you want an art criticism debate, I'm more than happy to oblige."

  Penny couldn't help it. Did this dealer really know anything about art? And who was his bloody client anyway? She could feel her temper about to explode. Not for the first time in her life.

  But Reilly remained aloof. Her angry comment didn't bother him in the slightest. Turning away from the gallery-area of her studio he pointed at an oil painting drying by a large window. "Now that looks interesting," he declared, nodding in approval. "Very interesting indeed."

  Ten minutes later, Penny was displaying what she called her ‘Mystery’ paintings on various easels around her studio.

  "Ah, yes!" the little man declared in a squeaky voice. "My client would be most interested in these."

  "Really?" Penny replied, unable to hide the surprise from her voice. Her best work brought nothing but derision whereas these frivolous, experimental paintings were making him gush. "Unfortunately, these are not really for sale. I'm only showing you them as artistic examples of my work."

  "Everything has a price, my dear," Reilly chuckled and smiled a hideous grin at her. Penny could barely contain a shiver of disgust in response.

  He had a point, though. She really did need the money.

  Reginald Reilly looked more studiously at each painting, utterly fascinated. "There is a theme at work here," he spoke at last in a voice that was not as high-pitched.

  "A theme?" Penny questioned.

  "Yes, they evoke in the viewer a time of myth and legend. 'Mystery' painting is an apt term for them."

  Penny suddenly felt nervous. She knew what he meant and it bothered her. Her new painting technique awakened feelings within her that she was still unable to face.

  "See here." Reilly pointed at one of her watercolours. "These grey blocks in the middle make one think of the ritualistic standing stones of Stonehenge. And here, ensconced in a wild landscape, the solitary tree bent over from the wind directs the huddled figures heading to the ceremony. The mist is positively ethereal, dream-like."

  Penny felt as though she too had entered a dream. Reginald Reilly's voice had completely changed from a nasally, high-pitched tone to one that was commanding and authoritative. In her slightly dizzy state, she could have sworn he had grown a few inches taller.

  "Yes, these paintings are precisely what I am looking for," he continued in his deepened voice.

  "Don't you mean they are what your client is looking for?" Penny questioned, her voice sounding weak and distant.

  With a wolfish grin etched on his face, Reginald Reilly turned and faced her.

  "Yes and no," he replied.

  Closing the distance between them, Penny gasped as he came to stand in front of her. His beady, sly eyes had become larger and wiser-looking.

  Penny wanted him to back off. He was standing far too close for comfort. She tried to move but her feet would not cooperate. The man's hypnotic voice pulled her in, closer and closer.

  Reilly brushed a hand through her long, red hair. His lips were only a few inches from her own. "My very own magical, flame-haired artist," he spoke in a seductive voice. "I've found you at last."

  Penny closed her eyes, completely under his spell.

  "I want..." he whispered.

  "Yes?" she gushed, full of desire.

  But the man did not finish his sentence.

  "Miss MacGregor. Are you listening to me?"

  "What?" Penny stammered in confusion.

  Opening her eyes, she found the dealer standing with his back to one of her 'Mystery' paintings, staring at her, the same ugly, little man from earlier.

  Shaking her head, the foggy dreamlike sensation quickly dissipated.

  "For goodness sake," Reilly said in his nasally voice. "Surely you would like to hear my offer? I just thought you would prefer to quote a price first."

  "Oh," Penny replied.

  She looked searchingly at him but Reilly betrayed no hint of having experienced anything strange. In fact, he appeared quite frustrated, standing indignantly with hands on hips.

  "Well?" Reilly pursued. "I don't have all day, Miss MacGregor."

  "Of course," Penny replied in a gargled voice, forcing her to cough in order to clear her throat. She needed to forget about the weird vision, or whatever it was, the man wanted to do business.

  "Perhaps this will demonstrate my seriousness," Reilly squeaked in a high-pitched voice, pulling a thick wad of notes from an inside pocket.

  Penny glanced at the money. "You've caught me unprepared," she admitted. "Like I said before, I never intended to show these paintings, let alone sell them. Why don't you give me some time to think about it?"

  Reilly sighed and scratched the back of his neck.

  "I have a better idea," he said at last. "In my hand, I am holding five thousand pounds. Why don't you take it as a down payment? I'll give you until Easter to put any finishing touches on the paintings. Then pay you another ten thousand pounds for all five."

  Fifteen thousand pounds! That money would get her back on track, no problem.

  "It is a generous offer," Penny admitted, mulling it over in her mind. "But how can you be so sure your client will want them? He has not even seen them yet."

  "Ha!" Reilly laughed before revealing a full teeth-baring grin. "Let's just say he and I have a uniquely close relationship. Believe me, he will want them."

  His offer seemed almost too good to be true. And yet, she was reluctant to part with her paintings. They had personal value, much more than she'd care to admit.

  "Also," Reilly continued, as if sensing her doubt. "I can assure you my client will want more. Would a retainer of twenty-five thousand pounds for any future paintings you produce be of interest?"

  "Yes," Penny replied without thinking. What was there to think about? She was in no position to turn down that kind of money.

  "Good," Reilly replied, handing her the thick wad of cash.

  "Let me do you a receipt," Penny offered, turning to her desk.

  "No, no. It won't be necessary. I'm quite sure your word is your honour. Right?"

  "Certainly but most people..."

  "Your word is good enough for me," Reilly interrupted. "Will Maundy Thursday be convenient to collect the paintings?"

  "Yes, but it will have to be in the morning. I am not available again until the following week. Holiday plans," Penny rattled off, revealing more than she'd intended. She still felt in somewhat of a daze.

  "Very good," Reilly nodded before turning away from her. "I'll find my own way out
. See you in a couple of weeks, Miss MacGregor."

  Reilly scurried out of her studio leaving Penny standing, mouth agape, with five thousand pounds in her hand. He really was a strange little man.

  After vacating the building Reilly stood on the sidewalk and smiled to himself. "It has begun, Master," he said out loud, seemingly to no one in particular. "She has consented."

  An old lady with a little dog on a leash walked past and glanced at him warily. Reilly paid her no mind. Instead, he began nodding slowly, as though an invisible person whispered in his ear.

  Moments later he took off down the street at quite a pace for such a small man. He overtook the old lady, who's dog began to yap at him.

  After crossing two streets he darted down a narrow alley, disappearing into a shadowy doorway. Seconds later a huge black rat with two protruding front teeth emerged from the doorway and sprinted down the alley.

  Chapter Two

  THE ROARING FIRE HELPED take the chill from Penny's bones. Standing in front of the blaze, she closed her eyes, letting its marvellous heat seep in. She wanted to explain her reluctance to deposit Reginald Reilly's money to Simone. And yet, something within held her back from doing so.

  Seated in an oxblood leather wingback, Simone eyed her friend as she stirred her tea. "Are you certain you're not over-reacting?" she asked, trying not to ignite her friend's notoriously short temper. "I hate to say it, but you do have a tendency to become somewhat 'attached' to your paintings."

  "No, I'm not bloody over-reacting," Penny snapped, turning to confront her friend. "And it was one time I refused to sell my work. One time! Forgive me if the thought of Claude von Heinrich hanging my art in his high-class brothel did not sit right with me."

  Simone laughed. "Funny, I'd have thought you'd be flattered. If I remember correctly the piece was called, 'The Antics of Pan'. So in von Heinrich's defence, it seemed an excellent fit."

  "The man was a pig," Penny answered bluntly. Turning back to the fire, she watched the flames lick one of the logs.