They stopped ahead of him, and he watched as the mortal stared tenderly into his sister’s eyes. There was no mistake. He was in love with Lilah. Tariq’s hands closed into fists, his jaw tensing into a locked position.
“Yes,” the mortal said to Lilah. “I will kill you.”
No, thought Tariq. You will die before I allow you to kill my sister.
***
“How was your evening?”
Lilah jumped, slightly startled at her brother’s voice mellifluously sing out from the front room. He had been waiting in the dark for her to return home. She closed the door and turned to face him.
“It was fine,” she answered shortly. She turned to escape to the sanctuary of her room. She didn’t have much time as it was nearing the hour of four and dawn would be breaking soon. Brone would be waiting for her in the church where they had first met. It seemed fitting that she would die there for it was there that she had first seen the opportunity to be reborn. She had less than an hour to get to the church. But first, she needed to retrieve something from her room. To her surprise, Tariq followed her up the narrow steps.
“What did you do?” he asked casually. “Did you feast?”
Oh, Tariq, she thought with some irritation. Not tonight. Please, not tonight.
“I went for a walk through the city,” she replied honestly. “And I am quite tired, Tariq. I believe I may retire for the day now.”
Tariq stood in the doorway, his hand pressed firmly against the door, so Lilah was unable to close it where he stood.
“Lilah, I know I do not tell you this often enough, but I care for you very deeply,” he told her seriously. Lilah blinked, surprised by the profession. She could not recall a time when Tariq had ever uttered words remotely akin to those. From somewhere forgotten inside her she felt a wave of affection as she turned to her brother.
“I care for you also, Tariq,” she told him. The siblings regarded one another intently for an unspeaking moment until Tariq offered her a pleasant smile.
“I would be very lost without you,” he told her. Lilah swallowed and averted her gaze guiltily.
“We are lost regardless,” she whispered. “Good night, Tariq.”
She closed the shut in his face and shook off the feeling of remorse. She did not have time for regrets. It was time to act before she lost her nerve. Lilah threw open the closet door and shoved aside several long skirts. In the depth of closet, hidden in the back, she pulled out the wooden stake she had fashioned a century earlier. She had almost forgotten about it, the dream of becoming human simply that; a fantasy. Lilah put the instrument in a black duffle bag, zipping it and pressed her ear to the door, listening for signs of her brother. Content that he had retreated downstairs, she carefully closed the lid to her casket, lest he comes to check on her and pried open the window. Slipping onto the iron fire escape with the tote in tow, she turned to look back into her bedroom one last time. She had no idea if she would ever see the inside of the house again. If she survived, she did not know if Tariq would ever allow for her to return. The most likely scenario would be that she and Brone would forever be on the run in the wake of what they had done. Tariq would not forgive her for leaving him alone in eternal life, and he would take out his anger on Brone, of that, she was certain. Still, she knew that she would miss her brother even with his surly, ferocious ways. Amdis, the calico cat, sat on top of her armoire, peering at her with wise eyes. He seemed to be encouraging her actions, and Lilah took the animal’s stare as a good omen. You must focus. Daylight is coming. Glancing over her shoulder one last time, Lilah said a silent goodbye to her brother and proceeded to St. Michael’s.
Down Yonge Street Lilah flew, her blonde waves streaking behind her like a banner of surrender against the night. At Queen, she paused, turning to glance behind her. She had the sudden sense that she was being watched but as she looked, she saw nothing. She narrowed her aqua eyes and peered into the dark. She could make out Brone pacing the steps of the church. A few of the cities homeless were sprawled, asleep on the benches and no one noticed as she approached. No one except Brone, who watched her pensively.
“You mustn’t look so distressed,” she told him. He laughed mirthlessly.
“You are asking me to murder you,” he responded. “It’s hard not to feel a bit freaked out, Lilah.”
“Just follow my instructions, and everything will be fine,” she said with a confidence she did not feel. Slowly, she placed the duffle bag onto the stone steps and withdrew the stake.
“Oh Jesus Christ,” Brone muttered, staring at the item. “It’s a goddamn wooden stake. This is something out of a horror flick.”
“It is the only way,” she murmured, pressing the tool into his reluctant palm. “Do it. Aim for my heart.”
“Lilah I – “
“If you wish to save me, you must do as I say,” she urged. Save her. I must save her, Brone intoned silently. For a surreal second, Lilah became Lilyanna, and he was in two places at once as if his present dimension had split into an alternate reality.
“When you are certain I have died, wait and then remove the stake and begin to revive me.” She gestured at St. Michael’s Hospital on the other side of the courtyard.
“You will leave me there and disappear. I will find you after I have recovered.”
“And if you don’t recover?” Brone choked, biting on his lip. “What if I simply succeed in murdering you?”
“Then you would have saved me regardless. I would rather die knowing I was loved by someone willing to risk everything to save me than roam this earth alone for eternity.”
Lilah thought she saw tears fill Brone’s eyes but he shifted his eyes toward the stake. Suddenly, he grabbed Lilah by the throat and aimed the weapon at her chest. Shocked by his sudden movement, Lilah impulsively tried to draw back, but Brone held fast, plunging the stake forward. Tears slipped down his wan face, and Lilah closed her eyes, exhaling in anticipation. She forced her body to relax, waiting for the spike to drain the immortality from her being. The impact of the wood did not hit her chest. Instead, she was flying through the air backward as a strong arm whisked her aside in one motion. Lilah’s eyes shot open in shock, her body catapulting through the night while Tariq pinned Brone to the chipped stairs of the church. Her slender frame impacted a lone maple, and she collapsed with a thud to the ground. She did not waste a moment, springing to her feet and racing toward the now dueling pair. Brone barely managed to keep Tariq at bay, using the wood stake as a barrier between them as her brother attacked with stunning blows to Brone’s face and body.
“Tariq!” Lilah screamed, rushing to pull him from Brone’s weakening body but once more, Tariq raised a muscular arm and swiped his sister away. This time Lilah was prepared and clutched at his forearm.
“Please, Tariq, stop!” she begged. Tariq was a formidable opponent, and it was obvious that Brone was losing the battle. His face was contorted in an expression of concentration and fear, but it was only a matter of seconds before Tariq won, despite Lilah’s best attempts to distract her brother.
“You stupid, stupid mortal,” Tariq snarled. “You think you can waltz into our lives and claim my sister? She is mine! She belongs with me!”
To Lilah’s horror, Tariq’s incisors began to extend as he spoke.
“Tariq, no! You mustn’t! It was my idea! He is innocent!”
“He is not innocent. If he is willing to murder, he is far from innocent,” Tariq snarled. Once more, he rose his arm, tossing Lilah from his body. She landed a few feet away, her head smashing off the corner of the stone chessboards. As red spots began to dance in front of her eyes, she watched Tariq dig his teeth into Brone’s exposed neck. Brone’s face froze into an expression of shock as his eyes began to glaze over. Oh, Brone, Lilah cried inwardly, blackness overtaking her mind as she slipped into unconsciousness. You tried to save me. I told you everything would be fine and I lied. I have failed you. Forgive me…forgive me…forgive me…
Chapter
Eight
She was on fire. I am burning in Hell where I belong, Lilah thought, her eyes slowly opening. The action caused her retinas to sting, and she became aware that she was flying. Blinking painfully, she realized she was in the someone’s arms, and as they ran through the streets, the weak light of dawn spilled down onto her photosensitive skin. The rays seemed to scald her on impact, and she knew it was apt to get worse as the day progressed. She needed to find darkness before she turned to ash. Of course, Tariq would know that for he would be experiencing the same pain as her. Her eyes could not make out his face, but she was certain it was her brother who flew through the downtown streets. Brone was dead. Dead because of her. She tried to speak to Tariq, terrified of what he was planning to do with her but she could not find her voice. She closed her eyes again to block the pain, and in moments, he had enveloped them inside a dark building. Cautiously, Lilah attempted her eyes again. After several quick flashes of her eyelids, she found that she could see properly again and the burns from the sunlight had scarred her pale skin. He placed her on the floor, and Lilah swallowed her mind racing with what to say. Will he leave me to walk the earth alone? The thought filled her with dread, and she turned imploringly to him.
“Tariq, I – “
“Lilah, I am not Tariq.” Stunned, Lilah raised her head and stared at Brone in disbelief.
“How…?”
Brone swept down and crushed his lips to hers. Eagerly, she returned his kiss. When her fangs extended, she drew back, breathlessly. He watched her and Lilah suddenly saw a familiar glow in Brone’s clear eyes. She suddenly thought of the night in Zalongo when Tariq had rescued her from the rocky shores of the Ionian Sea, his iridescent eyes floating above her. Brone has been turned. Tariq has claimed another victim. She sought out the telltale wounds on his neck and saw where Tariq had bitten him.
“Where is Tariq?” she asked with alarm, nimbly rising to her feet. “We must run. He will be seeking us out, and we will not be so lucky this time.” Brone may have managed to escape her brother, but that was a miracle not apt to occur twice. But Brone showed no sense of urgency, and he pulled Lilah toward him once more.
“Tariq will not be coming for us,” he assured her. He thought of how he had left Tariq dying on the steps of St. Michael’s Cathedral, the stake protruding from his chest, gasping for air, his gnarled hands clawing at the air. Brone would have waited to ensure that Tariq met his demise but the sun had begun to appear on the horizon, the heat beginning to scorch his translucent skin. He scooped up Lilah and began to run, a pulsating energy which he had never felt coursing through his veins. He had only managed to stab Tariq mere seconds before a certain death. He had watched the creature fall backward, his teeth dripping with blood, his eyes wide in shock.
“You killed me,” Tariq had whispered as Brone slid out from under him. Brone had never heard more beautiful words in his life.
“Tariq is dead?” Lilah whispered, and Brone nodded, his gleaming orbs fixated upon her. She was both devastated and relieved simultaneously. Yet as she looked at Brone, she realized that something else overrode everything else she was experiencing. It was love. Is this possible? Am I feeling something I have yearned for my entire immortal life? How can this be? Staring at Brone, Lilah recognized that she had simply been seeking her mate. It did not matter if she was mortal or immortal. All she had needed was someone to save her and Brone had been that man.
Tamed by the Vampire
A Vampire Romance
Veronica Cross
Tamed by the Vampire
Copyright 2017 by Veronica Cross
All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to a person, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Warning: Due to mature subject matter, such as explicit sexual situations and coarse language, this story is not suitable for anyone under the age of 18. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older, and all acts of a sexual nature are consensual.
Chapter One
Christine absentmindedly tugged down on one of her dark curls, letting it go, so it sprung back up with a bounce. She repeated this action, over and over, every time she was bored or frustrated. Right then, she was both. She sat on one of the cold, hard stools lining the counter by the reception desk of her parents’ art gallery. She was waiting, but she wasn’t sure if she preferred to just keep sitting there with nothing to do or have to fill her time with menial labor. It was the work of the grunts, and she still couldn’t wrap her mind around the fact that her parents decided this was the best way to teach her a lesson or two.
“I’m failing to see how making me move stuff around like some lackey between minding the gallery is going to remedy the situation,” she’d told her father flatly when he’d explained the decision.
“That’s precisely the reason why you really need this, darling,” her mother had piped in.
Christine felt her cheeks grow hot with anger just by thinking back on that moment. It was ridiculous to her, being born into an upper-class family but being reduced to this. So what if she’d gotten into a spot of trouble? Wasn’t the whole benefit of belonging to a family like hers to get away from altercations relatively unscathed? Her parents were blowing this out of proportion. What they wanted didn’t even make sense.
“I’m 21 years old,” she’d protested, “Let me enjoy my youth!”
“Enjoying your youth doesn’t mean you can just go around breaking and entering, Christine. You can’t expect to get away with destroying personal property! That’s preposterous!”
“He had it coming, okay! I’m not the one to point fingers at here. I just took justice into my own hands.”
“You aren’t supposed to take justice into your own hands,” her father told her sternly.
Christine knew from the start that she wasn’t going to get out of the humiliating task her parents had set forth on her. They refused to call it a punishment, but she knew that’s exactly what it was. She was young, gorgeous, and privileged. She had absolutely no business spending her days in the gallery, evenings learning the ropes of the business, and time in-between doing manual labor along with the help. She was working alongside the people her parents paid, but it wasn’t her actual job.
“It’s such a drag,” she’d whined to her friend, Stefanie, earlier that morning on the phone. “They’re just using this as an excuse to keep me from going out. They think I’ll cause trouble and sully the family name. It’s ridiculous for them to resort to this.”
“With great power comes great responsibility,” Stefanie mocked.
That was when Christine had promptly ended the call. She’d spent the whole morning angrily getting ready, thinking she did not even need to put so much effort into her appearance just to go be a nobody worker. Still, she’d applied her full face of makeup and meticulously put on her pre-planned outfit before heading down for breakfast. Now, she was waiting. The gallery was closed to the public for the day as everyone readied for the year’s biggest auction.
“The gallery is an integral part of our business,” an unwelcome voice said from behind Christine.
“So I’ve heard, mother.”
“But have you listened, darling?”
Christine rolled her eyes and turned to face her mom, “What do you want me to say? What’s the correct answer?”
“Well, that attitude certainly isn’t it,” her mother huffed before setting her purse in the security box behind the desk. “We are, first and foremost, owners of an auction house. The
gallery, however, is the first impression. It’s where people decide whether or not we’re worth doing business with. This is where clients and buyers get to know us, Christine.”
“I thought Auction House Discourse was an evening class, mother. Are we having a field trip today?”
Her mother gave a terse smile. “Where do you think this attitude will get you, Christine? Do you believe it will make us turn our backs and let you go on your way to ruin your future?”
Christine sighed and turned away. She really didn’t have the energy to argue with her mother. She was using all her energy on waiting. Her phone was locked up and she didn’t even have a magazine to read. Staring at the wall was incredibly dull, but her parents seemed oblivious to any of it. Either that or they just didn’t care.
“You have to learn sometime. You’ll have to work one day and, believe me, the longer you wait, the harder it will be. We’re doing you a favor here, Christine. This can be an excellent experience for you if you just open up. Just give an inch, Christine.”
“I’m here, aren’t I? Not that I have much choice.”
“Oh dear, I see you’re in a mood today. We’ll get nowhere so I’ll just leave you to your work. But, before I go, I will tell you something in a language you’ll certainly understand.” Her mother rounded to stand in front of Christine as she pointed at her clothing, “That designer outfit you so carefully picked out? That purse you carry so easily? The car you drive all too speedily? All those the things, the cost of those material things, hinge completely on events like this upcoming auction. So do be careful as you help unload the art and set everything up.”
Christine scoffed as she watched her mother head off to the seldom-used office of the auction house. It was the central office that was shared between her parents, but they preferred to work at a different location. She knew her mother would likely lock herself in there for the majority of the day and she wouldn’t put it past her to spy using security cameras. Christine stood up and stretched, deciding to go to the loading bay out back to ask for the status of the expected delivery.
The Campus Jock: A College Bad Boy Romance Page 38