by Claudy Conn
His father was not immortal. His father was not a vampire. Dracula looked at the corpse of his father and felt only one thing: rage.
Vlad became Count of Dracula, and he went on the bloody rampage that won him the title “Vlad the Impaler”.
It was then that he discovered that he was immortal. He knew at once that this had not come from his father’s side of the family. He had often seen his father sustain an injury that took as long as most to heal. He realized that all his life, his wounds had healed quickly—too quickly to be a natural thing.
And so a curiosity that had always been in the back of his head was revived. His mother—what had really happened to his mother? If she had given him this self-healing ability he possessed, surely she had not died. Was she also immortal? Why then had she left him?
However, his new and decadent life enveloped him, and he put the question aside.
Vlad Dracula, father of all vampire tales, was not by the true definition of the word a vampire. He did not die, to awake a vampire. He did not die and awake with a thirst for blood. He did not die and awaken an immortal. He was born an immortal. His lust for blood and killing was born from the need for revenge and the loss of his soul in black magic.
He became skilled in the Dark arts as he denounced God and all religion. He dove into wicked pursuits in an effort to eradicate the memory of his beloved. Memory was too painful; memory left him empty.
And then he began turning humans. He discovered quite by accident that if he allowed humans he had impaled to drink his blood they would die, yes, but they would be reborn with a thirst for blood—and a need to kill. This amused him for a time.
One day, something someone said made him remember that his mother was an immortal and must have untold abilities. He grew bitter when he thought about her. Why she had left him was a question that ate at the soul he had not quite lost. His soul was a dark, dense shade of black, but it was there somewhere inside him.
Thus, in the nineteenth century he began his search for her. He only knew his mother’s name had been Elizabeth.
In the Highlands of Scotland, his mother and his twin had prospered over the centuries, keeping their secrets to themselves. Elizabeth MacFare’s grandfather had died shortly after her return and had left her his fortune intact. She knew her grandfather was not immortal, she knew of course neither of her parents were immortal, and she wondered how it was that she was. At that time, she hadn’t realized the truth of the matter.
Elizabeth had named the son she kept with her John, and he took her family name—MacFare. Together they went forward.
She never ceased to mourn the empty spot she had for her other son, Vlad Dracula. She knew one day he might discover that she and John were alive—
And tales of what he had become made his mother’s gentle heart tremble.
For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart. It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul.
—Judy Garland
~ One ~
CHADWICK MACFARE STOOD on the stone steps of Darby Bray Grange, his Scottish home, and stared up at the stars. They were bright and appeared full of untold stories. Some of the stars seemed to take shape, forming a warning in the night sky.
He had just walked Mary Beth to her car, and he watched as she started to drive off. Her convertible top was down, and her red hair glowed in the dim lights that lined his courtyard.
He had felt nothing but relief as he watched her leave. She was a lovely, experienced young woman, and he thought she had understood the rules. He had told her from the start he was looking for ‘fun’—not friendship, not a romantic tie, nothing stable …
He had told her they could never have a future together. She was a worldly lass, and he was sure she understood what he had said to her. However, apparently he had been off the mark.
Lately every expression on her classically lovely face had warned him she wanted permanence, at odds with the fact that everything about her told him she was not in love with him. She wanted position, money, and power.
Lately, every word she spoke seemed to hold less affection for him, seemed calculated. This night, more than ever, she had tried to force his hand. She had suggested that, if he weren’t ready to declare himself, she might have to start ‘seeing’ other men.
He had given her a long look. He had already decided it was over between them. He answered softly, “Aye then, Mary Beth, you are entitled to do that and have the life you want.”
“I want it with you,” she snapped at him.
“You want it with what I own.”
“You are being cynical.”
“I am being truthful.”
She had dropped the subject and had instead returned to enticing him physically, but he had already made up his mind to say goodnight.
He sensed her resignation as she turned away. She knew he was saying good-bye, and he knew she wouldn’t be deterred. “You want me. You will always want me. We are good together.”
He had frowned. She didn’t want to see the truth, and he knew Mary Beth’s history was such that she still wanted to parade him about as hers. He knew she would fight losing him.
She had stroked his dark blond hair and kissed his hard chin. “You know I more than want you, Chad.”
“Do I know that? Mary Beth … come on—”
“But … we are good for each other.”
“No—in fact, we are not.”
She pulled away. “Ah—this sounds like good-bye.” She wasn’t looking at him as the words were spat from her pretty red lips.
“Mary Beth … I told you what I wanted—didn’t want—from the start.”
However, she was already out of his bed and throwing on her clothes. “Don’t ye worry none about it, love. Ye be in the right of it. I knew where this was going the first time you kissed me. It was always about good-bye.” She’d grabbed her purse and coat, and he had hurriedly followed her out.
Now, he sighed over it all and looked up at the night sky bright with stars, and those stars reminded him of Shawna’s silver eyes. The last time he had seen her he had wanted to reach out and touch her … but she was a vision, only a vision.
And then his body rippled with pain. A hiss made its way up his throat, but he controlled the savage sound. He wouldn’t make animal sounds. He sighed heavily as he thought of the Blood Orchard. He hadn’t needed it in so long …
He had other things on his mind as well. He was going to come out of the shadows of anonymity and make certain Pentim Rawley’s life force disintegrated by his own hands. And he was going to have to use the pretty, blonde-haired, silver-eyed innocent, Shawna Wellsly, to accomplish his goals.
He had known that for months. He could no longer do what his father and grandmother required. He could no longer be content to stand along the edge and keep out of the fray.
His grandmother had already objected to his plan. She had called Shawna an innocent who should not be drawn into the new war, but he no longer had a choice … and at any rate, Pentim was already searching for the girl.
She couldn’t escape Pentim and his clan without help. There were too many of the Rawley Clan, and some of them had powers singularly suited for stalking.
No one knew the secrets his grandmother and father harbored. None knew his own deeply personal sorrows—sorrows born of power he wished he didn’t possess. However, as of late he was glad for the mana he owned. It gave him an edge, an edge he knew he would need soon.
He had turned to go back into his home when it hit him. A blast of darkness assaulted him, and he put a hand to his head. He felt as though he were being pulled into a black hole and then discovering himself on the other side—another episode.
He stood close to her. He reached out, but of course he was in a vision; she couldn’t see him or feel his presence. He couldn’t touch her, but damn, he sure as hell wanted to.
She was wearing a black silk nightgown. One thin strap fell from her shoulder, and her full breasts captured his attenti
on. She stretched and then climbed into her bed. He felt a blast of desire, and his sudden hard-on made him uncomfortable. She was so incredibly beautiful with her golden hair a mass of waves around her intoxicatingly lovely face.
Shawna had been the woman that occupied his visions. In his nightmare vision he had seen Pentim Rawley take her and turn her …
He couldn’t let that happen—she was too important to him. He needed her to play a role in his plans to take down Pentim and his Rawley clan. All at once and with that thought, he realized where he was—on his front steps. He shook it all off as he went inside and closed the door at his back.
He still had a hard-on, and the image of her face and body swam around his mind, keeping him hot with desire.
There was no way he was going to allow himself to get involved with the beauty. He wanted one thing from her only, and that was to set her up as bait!
He had goals to accomplish. He had his family’s anonymity, so deeply treasured, to protect. He would have to proceed with stealth.
Another night to the full moon, and then he would be prepared for what lay ahead …
* * *
Had she known, Shawna Wellsly would not have agreed with his summation of her abilities—and innocent? She did not think so. Had the question of her innocence come up, she might have conceded that in some ways perhaps she was, but in most ways, she was streetwise and more. She had to be—she wanted to live, and she wanted to find a life more fulfilling than just staying alive.
However, now, staying alive would be good.
Pentim and his clan had other plans for her, and she would have to be at her most cautious if she were to elude them. Her grandparents had warned of this day, and here it was up close and way too personal.
The clan she feared the most—the clan all others feared—was searching for her. Some young were raised without the help of a father because the father had died or walked away. Shawna’s father would have done much worse had he known of her existence. He would have turned her and then used her special abilities. The thought she could be turned—made to kill, to take human blood—sickened and terrified her.
And now when her entire life lay before her, she had to give it up because Pentim had accomplished the unthinkable—he had discovered he had a daughter.
Six months ago she had one of her ‘dreams’. In it she saw Pentim Rawley—leader of the Rawley clan, or as he liked to think of himself, vampire prince—in the moments after he learned that he had a daughter. And Shawna knew what she had to do.
She immediately took to the road. She had a plan, and it was simple: she had to keep running.
She had another plan as well, but it was too complicated, too tricky, too involved, and might even give her away. Oh yeah, she thought with a dark scowl, that plan needs some serious tweaking before I can put it in use.
Shawna nimbly glided down the Avenue of Americas towards Forty-Fifth Street in Manhattan. Traffic was as usual totally wild. The sounds of the city were at their peak as rush hour would soon take the city into high gear.
She picked up her steps. She would have to hurry to make her appointment with her attorney on time. She glanced at her watch. Late—she was going to be late. Story of her life: running and late.
She had to have funds transferred to a bank in the Highlands of Scotland—her next stop. She had a cottage waiting for her there where she could hide and keep a low profile. She knew that sooner or later she would have to leave New York, because she had spotted one or two more vamps lately than normal. Were they looking for her?
A tickling sensation sprinted up her spine and landed in the back of her neck. She knew before she looked—someone was watching her. She stopped and pretended to admire a pretty dress displayed in the shop window. At first, she saw only the yellow sundress inviting all women to get ready for the summer a few months ahead. Then she saw her own image reflected back at her: a young woman with thick, blonde, and at the moment windblown long hair. She made a show of sliding her hands over her tightly fitted black jacket and pulled at its banded waist before she smoothed her hands over her blue jean–clad thighs. She turned partially on the heels of her high black leather boots, and then she saw him off to her left.
Her silver eyes gave nothing away as she looked him over. He stood a few feet from her, and he made no effort to hide himself. He wore an expensive, form-fitting black leather jacket over a dark gray T-shirt. Jeans covered, long muscular legs. Black leather boots with silver tips finished his high-priced ensemble, and then her eyes glanced back at his face. Whew! Sexy, hot, and handsome in an all too memorable way.
Was he following her? She was sure he was following her. Why? This wasn’t the first time she had seen him that day. She had caught a glimpse of his profile earlier …
After all, he wasn’t the sort that could go unnoticed, and this she decided was not a coincidence. She didn’t believe in coincidences.
She pretended to glance at her watch and then hurried along. She felt him move in line with her, and this time, he got closer.
She stopped at the intersection of Forty-Second and glanced around casually. He was only a few feet away. He wasn’t looking at her, and yet, she felt she was in his sights. What does he want?
He wasn’t one of the Rawley clan members—of that she was certain. She had the ability to distinguish human from vampire, and she definitely detected vampire in Damon. However, the witch in her also sensed something else—something special, something otherworldly about him. She wasn’t sure he was your usual vamp, but she knew … he wasn’t quite human either.
His tawny hair blew around his chiseled and handsome face. He was tall, he was amazingly well built, and she had to ditch him as fast as she could. Suddenly, with a speed that was vamp-fast, he was at her side, touching her arm as he whispered, “We need to talk.”
In addition to hunky Fae and vampires, Druids and shapeshifters,
Claudy also writes about sexy humans in her Risqué Regencies, including
Taffeta & Hotspur
~ One ~
Spring 1813, Nottingham, England
Taffeta looked out the window as their well-sprung carriage rumbled languidly over the country road. It was a cool spring day, and the air held a fresh, crisp scent. She looked at her brother and uncle across from her. Although she could see they hadn’t paid the least heed to the sweet breeze as it wafted through their open window, she breathed it in and prepared for battle.
“Don’t pout, Taffy! It ain’t like you, and it won’t change my mind,” snapped Lord Nigel in a tone obviously meant to be suitably firm and effective.
She wasn’t pouting, but she couldn’t pull herself out of her ‘dream’ to tell him. She was too deeply engrossed in the vision being enacted in her mind as though actors were on a stage right before her eyes.
She saw a huge, muscular, and beautifully naked man with dark eyes that burned through her as he looked right at her—at least the ‘her’ on the stage. His black hair fell in waves around his handsome face, and she watched herself as she glanced at him from top to bottom and allowed her gaze to linger on his ready manhood.
Lady Taffeta lived in the country and from time to time had witnessed a stallion breeding. This incredible man was much like a stallion. She felt herself blush and wondered who he could be, and why she wasn’t shocked in her dream vision.
She had to get out of this vision. It was wrong—all wrong. She sucked in air and broke out of the dream as she pushed her golden tresses away from her face and tried to concentrate on the present. She didn’t know where this vision had come from—she was sure she had never seen such a man … yet. “What did you say? Pouting? I … I am not pouting,” she announced, doing a very good imitation of it. Taffeta had to direct her attention to the present.
Sighing, she focused on the conversation at hand. “Nigel, why you are suddenly taking on this attitude is more than I can fathom. You may be my uncle, but you are only two years my senior and not fit to tell me what I should or s
hould not be doing.”
Nigel turned to her brother beside him. She knew he was looking for help. Her brother, the young Duke of Grantham, had been more friend and confidant than nephew to Nigel since the first day they had gurgled together on the lawns of Grantham Castle, she’d frequently been told.
“What are you grinning about, Seth? I should think you would lend me your aid in this. After all, she is your sister!”
Taffy watched her brother as he eyed his uncle doubtfully.
“Don’t look to me for help with the brat. Papa was the only one able to control Taffy, and this muddle is all your doing, you know.”
Lady Taffeta eyed her brother ruefully and then her young uncle and guardian. She knew it had been difficult for him. Nigel had been born to his parents late in life. After his parents’ death, his care and upbringing had gone to his older brother, and he had grown up with Seth and her, so the job of guardianship was forever in conflict with the position he held as their confident and friend. There was scarcely a month in age between her brother and Nigel, but that month had been enough to award Nigel guardianship of both her brother and her upon the death of their beloved father. She didn’t know what she would have done without both of them.
However, it was getting close to the day when Seth would be of age and take the reins of his own and her legal interests. It is sad really, she thought idly, how little women are allowed.
“You know, Seth, when we started this thing with the Luddites, well … I allowed myself to be drawn into it, even allowed you to drag Taffy—” Nigel said.
This brought her out of her reverie, and she raised one brow as she eyed them. “I wasn’t dragged.”
“Very well, I allowed Taffy to join in the thing because she—we—needed a diversion. We were all so glum when we lost your father … but dash it, man, I didn’t think it would go this far. It just isn’t the thing for Taffy to be involved in … all of this now. In fact, it is time for us to withdraw as well.”