by Eden Bradley
Two vampires, one woman, an eternity of love and desire…if only she’s strong enough…
Midnight Playground, Book 1
London 2069
For as long as Nissa has known about Midnight Playground, the most exclusive of a world-wide network of vampire sex clubs, she has yearned to gain entrance—and to become one of them. Orphaned and alone from a young age, she has nothing to lose and nothing to stop her from indulging in her darkest fantasies.
Hex and his maker, Aleron, have enjoyed many play partners at the club and have often shared in the euphoria of the Seeking Kiss, that sensual blood exchange between vampires and their lovers. But Nissa’s beauty, intelligence and strength is a siren call he can’t resist.. His desire for her and her willingness to let herself be drawn by their mental pull compels Hex to consider offering to her something he’s never given another mortal– the treasured Turning Kiss.
The beautiful vampire pair entice Nissa into an intimate sexual realm beyond her wildest dreams—and she revels in it. But when she finds herself falling for one of the powerful duo, it could mean the end of her deepest fantasies. Or a new beginning she never dared to imagine…
Warning: Three-way vampire sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism, anal sex, oral sex, simultaneous anal and oral sex (oh, yes, it’s possible!), drinking blood, drinking blood while having sex, political unrest , and a hot French accent. Keep a fan and some holy water nearby!
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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 persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
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The Seeking Kiss
Copyright © 2009 by Eden Bradley
ISBN: 978-1-60504-807-9
Edited by Bethany Morgan
Cover by Anne Cain
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.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: October 2009
www.samhainpublishing.com
The Seeking Kiss
Eden Bradley
Dedication
This book would never have happened if not for the support and encouragement of the ever-fabulous R.G. Alexander, not to mention the daily phone calls, her endless willingness to listen and her bottomless well of love. This one’s for you!
I must also thank Tammi Flora, Vivienne Westlake and Crystal Jordan for brainstorming this story with me, and my editor, Bethany Morgan, for allowing me to spread my wings. Sometimes it really does take a village. Luckily, this one is full of creative and smutty minds.
Chapter One
London, 2069
Nissa pushed her way through the crowded tube platform and toward the green-tiled tunnel leading to the stairs, wishing the ancient escalators still worked. Not that much in London had worked since the Anti-Monarchy riots in 2040, the year of her birth. The riots where her parents had died doing nothing more than trying to make their way home to her and her grandmother.
Nana had been gone for twelve years now, leaving Nissa alone in the flat in Camden Town, next to what was left of Regent’s Park. But she was used to it. Being on her own since the age of seventeen had taught her to be independent, street-smart, and savvy about the rough world she lived in. She knew how to walk through a dark neighborhood without getting mugged, knew what to do about it if it did happen. She didn’t put up with shit from anyone. She went where she liked, slept with whomever she liked, then kicked him out the next day without looking back. She was used to being entirely without connections, and that was exactly how she wanted things.
And being on her own meant there was no one to miss her if things went the way she hoped they would tonight.
Using her elbows and the occasional stomp of her stiletto-heeled boots, she finally got to the stairs, her legs pumping as she moved toward the small halo of dark sky above. Careful to keep a watchful eye on the others around her, she gripped her stunstick in her hand in case anyone tried anything. These dense crowds were even more dangerous than walking down a dark, empty street alone. Not that she would usually be so foolish, armed or not.
She was always armed.
Smacking away a groping hand just as she reached the top of the stairs, she turned her head and caught sight of a cocky grin on a handsome face. A blond pretty boy with a wicked gleam in his cool, gray eyes.
“Sorry, love.” He winked at her, gave her a quick nod as she moved away.
He really was pretty, and perhaps on a different night she would have encouraged him. But she’d had her fill of beautiful boys. Tonight she had much more in mind, and it had taken her too damn long to get this invitation for her to risk screwing it up over a common beautiful boy.
The damp air hit her as she pushed her way outside, into the cold night, stepping over a pile of broken concrete. So much for the joys of the New Democracy. There was never anyone around to clean up the streets after a bombing, and you had to watch your step everywhere you went, other than in the most exclusive neighborhoods. But Nissa never went to such places.
She moved down the block, into the heart of the old theater district that now housed nightclubs, pubs, cafés, shops selling leather goods, personal-protection devices and sex toys. Neon-like jagged bolts of lightning reflected in puddles in the street, making glowing pools of eerie watercolor. Noise came from every direction—the low rumble of voices, the rattle of an engine as a car, heavy with armor, passed by, the scratchy cry of a street player’s guitar somewhere, and in the distance, the shrill of sirens that seemed to be ever-present in London. She could smell the damp as it worked its way through her worn wool pea coat and into her bones, along with the scents of wet cement, smoke, the smell of unwashed humanity and the press of too damn many people.
Walking faster, she passed a group of morphies huddled in a doorway, a woman passed out in their midst as they muttered over her, passing a pipe around with shaking hands and glazed eyes. One called out to her, asking for money. She turned her head, moving faster. As if she’d be fool enough to take out her purse in Soho at night.
Anyway, she had someplace important to be, and she didn’t want to be late. Someplace crucial. Someplace she’d dreamed of for years.
Midnight Playground.
She turned the corner onto Shaftesbury Avenue, and there it was.
The old Palace Theater stood like an elegant fortress of red brick and arched windows, surrounded by high, intricate, iron gates to keep the rabble out. Nissa pulled in a breath, ignoring the London stench.
She was here. At the most exclusive vampire club in London. The most exclusive sex club. There was a Midnight Playground in every major city in Europe: Berlin, Paris, Rome, Madrid, Moscow. These places were nearly impossible to get into, and they never accepted anyone over thirty into their membership. At twenty-nine, Nissa was close to being excluded forever. But she’d managed it, finally. Or her friend, Ilana, had managed it for her.
She moved in, tucking her stunstick into the pocket of her coat and clipping it into its harness, then flipping open the hidden pocket that held her identification and invitation as she approached the gates. The bouncers were a pair of hulking, bald figures in black leather trench co
ats, arms crossed over massive chests.
She nodded to them. “I have an invitation.”
Holding it out, she pinched the heavy velum between her fingers, running her fingertips over the raised lettering, and the embossed Celtic dragon’s head logo that matched the design in the center of the towering iron gates of the club.
“Let’s have a look.” One of the bouncers held his beefy hand out.
Nissa narrowed her eyes, looking for the telltale tinge of pink in the skin. Human. She supposed a vampire wouldn’t have to work as a gate bouncer. Vampires were an elite society, revered, feared. Desired.
She shivered even thinking about it. Thinking about them. About the inherent sense of power that radiated from the few she’d ever come upon.
“Identification,” one of the enormous men demanded, and she handed it over. He glanced at the other man, held the invitation out for him to peruse, as well as her ID.
“Is there a problem?”
Her heart thundered.
Both men turned to her. One held her identification up to the lamp mounted on the gate, then gave a sharp jerk of his chin. “You’re in, girl.”
Her heart lurched as the gate opened, and she stepped through.
Immediately, the air seemed to clear of the ever-present London gloom, to smell better, which was impossible, of course. But she was there, through the gate and walking up to the heavy iron doors, her boot heels ringing in her ears.
She was asked for her ID once more at the doors by another leather-clad bouncer, then she was ushered through, into a dark foyer lit only by red neon lights. There, an exquisite young woman in a short, tight leather dress palmed her identification card and silently helped her out of her coat, turning to take it away.
“Wait.” Nissa reached out her hand and grabbed the girl’s shoulder. “Where are you taking my things?”
“You won’t need them here. You’ll have them when it’s time to go.”
Nissa clenched her teeth. She hated to lose sight of her stunstick, even though she’d been told in advance that no weapons were allowed inside the club. But she felt naked without it.
Another woman approached, dressed as the first and every bit as beautiful. “I’ll take you to your sponsor.”
Nissa followed her through a pair of heavy velvet drapes that hid another iron door. On it was the dragon’s head, the insignia of the Midnight Playground, teeth bared, long tongue snaking out. The eyes were set with fiery red stones that caught bits of light, dazzling her vision for a moment. There was a cool draft of air as the curtain was pushed aside, then there was nothing but a slow, pulsing heat as the light shifted from red to gold in a sort of anteroom off the main club floor. Through another arched, curtained doorway Nissa could hear the primal beat of the music playing inside, enticing her, teasing her, an invitation to all she’d ever wanted. Her heart was racing, her palms growing damp.
Ilana was suddenly at her side in a faint cloud of perfume. She smelled like smoke and flowers and sex.
“There you are, Nissa. Excited?”
“Yes.”
“Nervous?”
“Yes. Equally.”
“You should be.”
Her friend was taller than she was by several inches, a willowy blonde whose narrow face was softened by a cloud of wavy hair and enormous blue eyes. They’d met two years earlier in an online group of people who yearned to enter the vampire clubs. They’d quickly identified each other as those few who were serious about it, as opposed to those who played with the idea of having sex with vampires, of giving in to the Seeking Kiss, that sexual drinking of blood offered to a fortunate few. It was given only to the beautiful, the young, and those of a certain intelligence. When Ilana gained entrance a year ago, Nissa had been envious, making her feel further from her goal than ever, yet somehow also understanding that it was truly possible. Agonizing. And now, wonderful beyond imagining.
“Ilana, thank you for making this happen.”
She shrugged. “I didn’t do much. They liked the way you answered your profile questions. And your picture.”
She stood back, her blue gaze taking Nissa in from head to toe. It was a bit intimidating. Ilana was always a bit intimidating. She was elegant, cool, a little detached, almost as if she were a vampire already. But she hadn’t taken the Turning Kiss yet. Or it hadn’t been offered to her. Nissa had never asked. It was far too personal a question.
“Do I look all right, Ilana?”
Nissa ran her hands over the short silver skirt barely grazing the tops of her thighs, where her high black boots nearly met the hem, her black latex shirt with the buckles running from elbow to wrist. She’d spent a week’s wages on it from her job as a barmaid. Didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she was here, that she looked good enough. That she be invited to stay. And eventually, to become one of them.
“You look great. Love the boots. And your hair is perfect, long and loose, just as they like it. Black as midnight.” Ilana smiled at her. “They’re going to love you. They’re going to eat you up.”
A shiver ran through Nissa’s body, a small frisson of energy that seemed to light up her skin. She felt edgy, hyper-aware of everything around her, of her own heartbeat, the aura of excitement emanating from Ilana that matched her own. And the beginnings of a faint, warm pulse between her legs at what was to come, what she was about to see.
“All right, Nissa, we’ve been over the rules. You know there are no condoms here—that the vampires are without disease. Anything and everything can and will happen in the club. You can watch whatever you like, if it’s done publicly, but don’t approach any group without being invited, or any individual unless they’re human.”
“How will I know for certain?”
“You’ll know. It’s unmistakable.”
Nissa nodded.
“And if you’re offered a Kiss,” Ilana went on, laying a hand on her arm and catching and holding her gaze, “don’t turn it down unless you intend never to come back.”
“I won’t. I am as serious about this as you are, Ilana, you know that.”
“Some people find they’ve bitten off more than they can chew.”
“That won’t happen to me.”
Ilana was quiet a moment, watching her carefully. “No, I don’t think it will. Come on, I’ll take you to the bar.”
She held back the heavy gold velvet drape and Nissa walked through, and into her deepest, darkest fantasy.
Chapter Two
He watched her walk into the club, all defiant bravado, but he could smell the acrid scent of fear beneath. The new ones were always a little scared. But this little one had only an edge of it. Maybe the bravado wasn’t all defiance.
Hex had been just like that when he’d entered the club in Paris ten years ago. When he’d met Aleron. He’d been so damned ready. And hadn’t regretted a moment of his decision.
He turned his attention back to the new girl. Sleek, long, dark hair like a curtain around her slender shoulders and nearly to her tiny waist, a tight little body with breasts perhaps just a bit too full for her small frame. Lovely. One of those pouting doll mouths. She would look innocent if it weren’t for her eyes. They were green, tilted at the corners. Feline.
Pulling in a deep breath, he took in her fragrance from across the room, separating out the perfumes and sweat of the others, the alcohol, the cigarette smoke, the hash smoke. Yes, there she was, like honey, sweet, as innocent as her face. Except that there was a dark musk underneath it that spoke of sex.
Have to show her to Aleron. Have to have this one.
She glanced up, and her gaze caught his. He kept her there for a long moment, until she stumbled, and he let her go. There would be time later, once Aleron arrived. Aleron would help him bring the girl to him. To them.
His groin tightened.
They’d taken many women together, he and Aleron, in the years since Aleron had Turned him in the club in Paris. They’d come to London together only last year, wanting a change
of scene. They both loved the British girls. There was a certain hardness about them the French women seemed to lack. And the British boys were beautiful and tough and smart. But the boys were almost too easy. He and Aleron fulfilled each other’s need for men anyway. It was the girls Hex wanted, that Aleron wanted.
Yes, they would bring the girl to them. Together. He could hardly wait.
The pulsing beat of the music seemed to push Nissa across the room as effectively as Ilana’s hand on her shoulder. She hardly had time to take in the multi-level dance floor, the old balconies of the theater hung with their golden scrollwork and life-sized cupids, paused as if about to take flight.
Her pulse was thrumming from that man—that vampire—looking at her. Not just looking, but looking. Into her. Seeing her.
She shivered.
Ilana had been right—there was no mistaking him for human. His dark gaze had glittered as though filled with the distant light of the stars. And even in the dim, throbbing glow of the club lights, his skin was luminous, his lips impossibly lush, smooth and pink. He had one of those compact, muscular bodies, broad shoulders beneath his white T-shirt, narrow hips in his black leather pants. He seemed impossibly clean, somehow, in a way she didn’t quite understand. All she really understood was that she wanted him, with a simmering desire she could barely contain.
But Ilana was gesturing her toward the long marble-topped bar at one end of the enormous room.
“Nissa, have a drink. It’ll calm you down.”
“What? All right. I’ll have a scotch, I guess.”
“You seem distracted.”
“No, I’m fine.”
“I saw him.”
“Who?”
“That dark one watching you.”
“Oh.” Nissa smoothed her hair from her face. She was always utterly confident when it came to men. But this was different. He was different. He wasn’t a man, after all. “It’s just…a lot to take in at first. I’ll be fine in a moment. Better after a drink.”