The NightMan

by T. L Mitchell

  The NightMan

  T.L. Mitchell

  “Not one of my bloodline shall be truly yours. They shall be your torment for all of eternity. The one who shall have her heart shall be your reaper of death.”

  Dorian released him and then quickly grabbed the old man’s head. With a quick jerk Dorian silenced the man forever. The crimson blood dripped down Dorian’s chin as fury flamed in his eyes. He never believed in curses until now. Dorian released Murtough’s lifeless body and watched it drop to the ground. For a brief moment, Dorian stared down at the corpse, as the old man’s word burned a fire through his soulless body. Chills prickled down his spine as he wondered about this man. A man of such powerful words, one would think of him as a witch.

  Rave Reviews

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  The NightMan

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  “…a charming, romantic and utterly sensual story of love, lust, and danger…”5 Stars-Paranormal Romance Guild

  “It was sexy, angry, loving. all the emotions and feeling that I love to see. The ending left me with a smile and a HEA."-Seriously Reviewed

  “…is an erotic thriller that will have you on the edge of your seat with excitement and tantalized taste buds...Mitchell knows how to evoke a mysterious atmosphere…”-Book Pleasures

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used factiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Celeris Publishing

  USA

  Copyright © 2010 by T.L. Mitchell

  ISBN-13: 9781937629540

  ISBN-10: 1937629546

  Third Edition Celeris Publishing 2013

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission.

  Prologue

  Mid-morning, a beautiful day where the sun was bright and the breeze gentle. Spring days had always been the most beautiful in the mountains.

  A twelve year old girl with long curly blond hair sat in the middle of an open meadow and played quietly. Her cheerful angelic face gleamed as she picked the small lavender colored flowers from between the deep green blades of grass.

  The cotton lace hem of the petticoat she wore hung low under the bluish grey dress which spread around her. The dress was not fancy, and indicated she didn’t come from a wealthy family.

  A playful breeze stirred around her, tossing the soft blond curls around her head. Her pink lips pursed together and she pulled the stray strands away from her face. Her gaze drifted up towards the edge of the meadow where she noticed a large animal approaching her.

  The girl didn’t feel fear as she stared in amazement at the size of the black wolf, larger than most of the grey wolves she had seen. She remained calm and curious as the wolf moved slowly toward her. There was no threat, as she could see. It appeared the wolf was as curious about her as she was him.

  The wolf stood in front of the child, its height towered over her. Dark eyes watched cautiously as the child’s hand slowly moved toward the nose of the wolf. The creature caught his breath as the tiny fingers touched the tip of his nose.

  Gently and slowly the wolf pressed its head against the child’s fingers. She giggled as the wolf lay down in front of her, nudging her tiny fingers as she scratched behind its ear.

  “And you shall be my best friend, forever.”

  Chapter 1

  Leaving behind its smoldering golden hue of colors, the sun drifted down behind the majestic mountains. The rich tones of yellow, gold and blue painted the sky a picture perfect sunset for the winter month. Deeper into the bluish tones, the moon arose from its rest and illuminated the bare tree limbs with its silvery charm.

  Not far from the small nest of trees a small club, Tiffany’s came alive. Saturday nights were usually the top spot for the unique night club. Despite its location in a secluded area several miles from the nearest town, it remained crowded on the weekends. Two major cities surrounded the small town.

  A blue ‘98 Mustang pulled up in front of the club. The passenger door opened as a leggy blond stepped out of the passenger side. Slowly, she stood to her feet and stepped away from the door. She adjusted the short black mini skirt, giving it a quick tug before she closed the car door behind her. Several strands of her long golden hair fell across her left shoulder when she turned toward the man who stood beside the club’s entrance. She drew in a deep breath, preparing herself for the confrontation. The breath she released a slow and steady breath, and then marched directly up to the powerfully built man. Briefly she forced out what she considered a warm smile, giving the muscular man a good once over with her blue eyes.. Slowly her slender fingers dipped into the top of her low cut red silky shirt and withdrew a plastic ID card.

  The NightMan stood beside the door and waited patiently. A gust of wind stirred the night air, lifting the long length of his black leather coat gently away from his legs. He shifted his stance, his leg muscles tightened, bracing himself while he waited for her to hand him the plastic card.

  His black eyes hungrily roamed over the blond. To him, her scent was obvious. The scent of a virgin, and yet the powerful scent of arousal. He knew, even if she didn’t admit it, she was highly attracted to him.

  The muscles tightened in his broad square jaw when his fingertips touched hers. A cold smile crossed his thin lips. He turned and placed the card into the computerized slot attached to the door, and waited as the light turned from red to green. A small click, followed by a green light flashed and then the door opened.

  The man turned back to her, and held out the card. Once again his eyes roamed over her body, admiring her well-endowed breasts. When her fingers clasped around the card, he couldn’t resist to hold onto it for one more second. He only wished she could remember what he meant to her. His gaze drifted from hers to the elegant gold necklace dangling around her neck. It was marvelously fashioned, a ruby like setting in the center of a gold Gaelic cross. The NightMan knew the cross was a special gift from her father, left in his will and testament, a special gift that protected her from them.

  He thought it would do her good to mind her manners before she entered the club tonight. He fought the urge to laugh as she snatched the card from his hand. It was a good show on her behalf, but he knew better.

  The dark gothic overtones of the music blared when the door opened. The NightMan watched her walk toward the threshold of the door and stop. She turned around quickly to face him. The hot burn of desire swept over him by her sudden action. His body tensed and his senses came alive as he listened to the quick breath she inhaled. He knew she had no idea of the animal instinct she aroused in him.

  “Is he here?” She cut him a quick glance.

  “He’s been waiting for you all night.” He replied with a deep rich throaty tone.

  He could tell by her glare she was more than frustrated, but irritated.

  “Is she here as well?”

  “It would do you good to mind your tongue before you walk through those doors. He’s rather pissed off tonight.”

  “Well he can get over himself. I’m not in the mood,” she snapped.

  “Neither is he,” the NightMan growled.

  Another shiver prickled up her spin, causing the hair on her neck to spring on its ends. There had always been a certain amount of electricity between her and the NightMan. The sexual tension between the two had never been explored, at least not by their choice.

  The NightMan remained at the club every night when it opened. A debt he owed, she thought, to the Master. Whatever the reason he stayed, he remained faithful in his servitude. He was one hell of a stout man, which highly attract
ed her. She wouldn’t deny her appeal to his dark nature, and wouldn’t mind exploring the possibilities of a hot romp with him. Then again, she would have another problem if she dared to touch him, one of which she didn’t care to face. The Master had forbidden for her to be touched by anyone.

  “Thanks for the warning, Adriel,” she sneered as she turned to face the entrance.

  The NightMan shifted again, his leg muscles flexed against his jeans as he returned to his position. For a moment, his thoughts wandered, as he stole another glance at the long legged blond. How he wished he could have those lovely legs around his waist. He didn’t care what she thought. She was with them, and this bothered him. The one thing he did care about was the fact he desired her so badly. There was something about her that drove him crazy every time he was in her presence. Her scent, he inhaled another deep breath, was mesmerizing. The subtle honey scented tones reached deep within his soul, and raptured his darkest desires.

  Adriel knew better than to cross another man’s property. He knew the penalty if he so much as even touched her. The penalty of death came to all NightMen who dared to cross their property. It didn’t matter if the women chose them or not. Death would be faced at the hands of the Master. Sadly for Adriel, the Master owned his only weakness, her. The NightMan’seyes closed. He knew he could only offer her death.

  Adriel was a healthy well-built man, even from his late teenage years. The muscle packed man had the body of a professional wrestler. His bulk came naturally as by his heritage. Only a few knew his origins. Few questioned his appearance, tall, black hair and cold black eyes. Many feared him too much to question him, especially them. However, he did owe a debt and once he repaid the debt, he could leave, return to his home and live his life in peace.

  The black eyes opened again. He tilted his head back, lifting his gaze toward the moon that hung brightly in the sky. Tonight might be the night, he thought as his hands clasped together in front of him. The night he would be set free from his bond. The bond he had suffered to the Master for over the last 100 years. Yes, he hoped his time would be near. Adriel wished nothing more than to live a normal life. One of which was normal in his eyes.

  ****

  Inside the club the music blared, as the base and drums pounded the walls. From the left to the right, the blonde’s gaze roamed the club, searching for the one she knew was there. The NightMan never lied. Wall to wall, a variety of people mingled around the small club. Some danced while others talked loudly and laughed loudly along the sidelines of the dance floor. Aggravated, she shoved her way through the thick crowd to the bar.

  “Hello, Caitlin.”

  A rich a lustrous voice caught her attention. Caitlin turned around quickly in the direction of the voice. It was him.

  “Dorian.” She tamed her tone to a seethe.

  The man who had waited for her the entire night appeared to be calm, despite what the NightMan had told her. But she wouldn’t take his light demeanor as a fore shadow. She knew with Dorian, there was always more to him that met the eye. She glanced over his visage and took note of anything that may indicate his anger. You didn’t want to be in his path of wrath, as he was also known for his brutish behavior. Caitlin had witnessed it too many times in the past, and feared the worse.

  Dorian towered over Caitlin with his tall statuesque body. He stood around six foot – two and muscular but not overly built like Adriel. His black hair was combed down smoothly against his head. The pronounced widow’s peak showed off clearly at the edge of his hairline. The gold tones in his green eyes changed, an indication that anger lingered in his cold heart. He had waited too long for her reply.

  Dorian’s patience was always thin, especially when it came to Caitlin. The time he had spent on her was more than he would have given anyone else. His own selfish desire for her made him wait as long as he had.

  The muscles in his jaw tightened. “I believe I asked you a question.”

  “I had something to do,” Caitlin snapped.

  “Usual?” The sandy blond-haired bartender placed a glass down.

  “Yes please.” Her soft softened.

  Dorian’s clasped his hand around Caitlin’s arm, swiftly he turned her around to face him. Caitlin immediately jerked away. Her eyes narrowed, sending him the familiar uninvited warning.

  “I have waited for you all night. I demand to know where you have been!” He growled, leaning closer to her face.

  “I don’t believe I can address your question properly when your hand is squeezing my arm so tightly.” Her gaze fell to his fingers.

  Dorian released a long sigh as his fingers fell away from her arm. He shoved his hand through the black tendrils of hair.

  His eyes narrowed as a hiss slipped through his teeth. “Damn it, Caitlin! Must we go through this every time?”

  “You have more than one woman to fill your needs. Where is Alessandra?”

  A look of disgust crossed Caitlin’s face as the mere mention of Alessandra‘s name slipped through her lips. Alessandra was nothing more than Dorian’s glorified bitch. She was at his beck and call whenever he wanted. Caitlin knew Alessandra loved Dorian, and at the best a faithful companion. Of course she would do what he asked of her. Yet, Dorian reserved no respect for Alessandra, no matter how she pleased him.

  “Alessandra is where she needs to be. You on the other hand…” He inhaled a quick breath. “Smell like one of those beasts! I swear to you Caitlin, if I ever find out you have submitted yourself to one of them I will kill you and then him.”

  “Dorian, you have no need to worry.” Her fingers reached down to her necklace. Slowly she lifted the cross in front of his face.

  Dorian grimaced then stepped away from her, leaving a substantial amount of space between them.

  That damn necklace, he cringed. He knew the necklace was as pure as she was. Untouched. It was his damnation, his curse. The blood red vile in the center of the cross was the blood of her ancestors. The few drops of blood created just enough of a protection around her so he would never be able to touch her unless she took it off. He knew better than to try.

  The painful memories from the first time he tried to remove it from her still haunted him. Immediately his hands balled into fists. One day he swore, he would have someone remove that damned thing for him. Even if it took him another one hundred years he would find a way. Caitlin was his and his alone to enjoy.

  He watched as Caitlin pursed her lips into a wicked smile, and he knew she was aware that he feared more than just the cross. His hands bore the memory of the burn from when he tried to remove it from her. The fit of rage he had that one night terrified her. He paced the floor like a wild animal. Horrifying hisses and snarls erupted from him as he cursed her and her ancestors. Crimson red blood ran freely down his hand from the scalding burns made by the cross. He knew he had a right to fear it. It was her father’s only means of protecting her from him.

  Chapter 2

  The story behind Caitlin’s father and Dorian was a rather tragic tale. The memory of the legend still haunted Caitlin, something she would never forget. Her ancestors were bound to Dorian through the fatal decision of one man.

  During the mid-evil times of Ireland, Vikings invaded the Irish some 26 times following their first appearance on the island. When the Vikings first appeared in Ireland many homes were raided and all sorts of malicious behaviors were committed. The Irish clans joined together in an effort to rid Ireland of these barbaric people, but one man chose another route.

  In the year of 1013 AD, Caitlin’s great ancestor Argyll Murtough made a deal with a devil one night that cost him dearly. He didn’t realize at the time his desperation placed a curse on himself and his entire lineage.

  A precarious group of strangers wandered onto his land. They didn’t look like the Norse warriors, nor did they resemble any of the English he had seen. They appeared to be nomads, yet carried no weapons with them.

  The leader of this group was called Dorian, a very civil man who spoke
in an English tongue. Murtough’s curiosity peaked as he noticed the stranger’s accent dated back further than his language. Compared to the Irish, they were all well groomed and dressed in leggings similar to the English. Even the one woman companion of the group dressed in the same attire. The coats they wore complimented the frilly shirts and appeared to be more of the English formal ware.

  They didn’t wear the silly wigs as the nobles, allowing their heads to bare their natural beauty.

  Murtough met Dorian late one evening, after the sun disappeared behind the mountains. Dorian listened patiently as Murtough expressed his concerns and plea for help. However, the rewards for Dorian’s efforts were not nearly enough to satisfy his desires. Dorian wanted more than a share of Irish land as payment for his deeds. Dirty deeds, in Dorian’s eyes don’t come cheap.

  Dorian leaned forward to Murtough. “I will accept your land old man. But, there is something else I will also take.”

  Dorian’s physical appearance indicated an inhuman quality about him. The reddish greying hairs on the back of Murtough stood on end.

  “What do you want?” Murtough sat back in his chair.

  A sinister smile crossed Dorian’s thin lips. His crystal blue eyes smoldered a dark black. “In exchange for my help, I will take a female from each generation in your lineage, beginning with your daughter.”

  “What ar’ you?” Murtough’s heart raced. “A demon?”

  Dorian’s hearty laugh rang out through the tiny hut of Murtough’s home.

  “I’m much more than a demon old man. Do we have a bargain or not?” Dorian hissed.

  Murtough’s answer held in his throat when the front door of his home burst open. His eldest son, a tall stout young brave man by the name of Angus bolted through with terrible news. A band of Vikings had just raided a nearby clan and killed most of the inhabitants. The young man brought more bad news which called for immediate attention of his father. The Murtough clan would be shortly invaded by a small army of Vikings.