Darkest Desire of the Vampire: Wicked in MoonlightVampire Island (Harlequin Nocturne)

by Rhyannon Byrd

  “Welcome to the Ile de Nuit, Mademoiselle Miller. I apologize that we were not able to arrange for better transportation to our resort.” The beautiful man extended his hand for Isla’s own. His palm was chilly against hers, as were his lips when he lifted her hand to his mouth for a small, discreet kiss.

  “Well. It’s all right, I guess.” She was charmed by the gesture. If Jessie were here, she would have a date with the man already. Isla was far more reserved, however, and already knew that this man, handsome as he was, wasn’t for her.

  She wanted that visceral tug deep in her gut, that primal recognition of a soul mate.

  And that was why she was always single. She wanted the real thing, not some tropical island fling.

  “I am Gaspar.” The man straightened back up and smiled flirtatiously at her, and Isla felt a bit of her agitation from the long day of travel melt. If the man had truly been flirting with her, she would have been intimidated, but she recognized the type of man that Gaspar was—he loved women, all women, and that included her.

  She could handle that.

  “We spoke on the phone earlier. I will be your personal concierge while you are here.”

  “My concierge?” Discreetly—or so she hoped—Isla brushed her hand over her forehead, wiping at the sweat accumulating there.

  It was so hot here.

  “Oui.” Gaspar handed Isla a device that looked like a high-tech beeper. “If you need anything, anytime that you are in the resort, simply press this button. I will hear it, and provide you with whatever you want.”

  Shading her eyes, Isla looked past the man to the gates of the self-proclaimed haven and the massive, bone-white buildings behind them. She could see a huge pool that sparkled turquoise in the sun, the water glinting through the bars of the fence.

  “I can’t imagine what I could need. It looks fabulous.” Yes, it looked fabulous indeed—luxurious, rich and relaxing.

  “Still. Anything that you need, anything at all.” Picking up Isla’s massive suitcase and carry-on tote without even a grunt, Gaspar gestured with his head for Isla to precede him to the shiny black golf cart that sat at the end of the dock. “If you require a hamburger at two in the morning, you should press that button. If you wish for a dinner companion, press the button. If you need someone to apply sunscreen to your back, you contact me.”

  From two steps behind Gaspar, Isla started. To apply sunscreen to her back? Then Gaspar turned and winked at her, openly flirtatious, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

  “I think I’ll manage, but thank you.” Men who looked like him just weren’t interested in women who looked like her. Petite and with curves that she often thought were a bit overly ripe, Isla wasn’t the kind of woman who men typically checked out.

  “After you, mademoiselle.” Gingerly, Isla climbed onto the golf cart, and as she did, her heart started to pound. She didn’t like new things and tried her best to avoid strange situations. Now, because she hadn’t had the heart to turn her friend down and because deep down she knew that her life needed a kick in the pants, she was about to enter some fancy French resort on some tiny Tahitian island...and she was alone.

  Alone. Nerves began to churn in her gut. Gaspar shifted in his seat, his nostrils flaring as if Isla’s anxiety somehow had a scent.

  She could do this. She could do this. She just needed to distract herself.

  “Are you all right?” Gaspar cast a sidelong glance of concern in Isla’s direction, and she gave herself a mental kick. No matter how fragile the hold on her self-esteem had been lately, she was a grown woman. She was taking an adult vacation. It wasn’t that big of a deal.

  Except that to her it was indeed a big deal, one that was loud and clear in her mind. Jessie knew it, too, and if Isla didn’t know how much her friend had very much wanted to come here herself, she might have thought that Jessie had chosen this unique resort specifically to push Isla completely out of her comfort zone.

  “I’m fine. Sorry. I’m just...a little overwhelmed from the day.”

  “We’ll fix you up soon enough.” Gaspar cast her a flirtatious smile. Isla felt as though she should be responding in some way, but she felt nothing.

  Well...she did feel something, just not toward her cute concierge. She felt relief. Saying a silent but fervent thank-you to Jessie, she breathed the humid air in deeply. No matter how stressful the day had been, she was here now, on a tiny island in Tahiti, with a personal assistant who wanted to spoil her.

  How bad could this possibly be?

  * * *

  He smelled her before he saw her.

  The blood fizzing through the human’s veins smelled, of all things, like fresh, juicy mango, overlaid with a hint of Tahitian vanilla. It made his mouth water, and no wonder.

  He’d always been partial to dessert.

  Sloane Goldhawk didn’t trust anything, anyone, until they showed him why he should. The woman stepping neatly off the small boat that had ferried her to the island looked as sweet as she smelled, with her long strawberry hair pulled back in a simple braid, the color setting off the smooth-as-cream skin of her shoulders, which were bared to the sun by her white sundress.

  She sure didn’t look like the kind of woman to volunteer blood services to a colony of vampires. Hell, she didn’t look like she’d ever even heard of the creatures in her life.

  But then, he was certain that she had. Humans had three trains of thought about Ile de Nuit—or Vampire Island. Some were superstitious locals who regarded the place as the devil’s playground and wouldn’t set a foot on the island for all the money in the world. Most were vampire groupies, that rare subset of humanity who not only believed in the reality of vampires, but who accepted what was right before their eyes and craved the thrill of being near nature’s deadliest predator.

  Most, however, were people who had heard the legends about the island and scoffed, certain that the stories were nothing but that—fiction made up to draw visitors to the island.

  The exact opposite was true in the latter’s case, however. Unless a human was a fanger—a proven vampire groupie, one who wanted to live on the island in exchange for providing blood—and had been invited personally by Lucian, then reservations at the resort had a mysterious habit of being full at the time of booking.

  Lucian St. Baptiste, leader of the clan that lived on the island, had created the perfect little ecosystem. Humans who got a sexual thrill from being hunted, being fed on, were happy, and they were protected by rules against overfeeding. In turn, this gave the vampires a ready, fresh food source at all times, so long as they followed the rules of the clan.

  Existence was peaceful in the hedonistic paradise of the island, far removed from the problems of the world.

  That was why Sloane was there—for that peace. The mysterious owner of the island, who Sloane had yet to meet, had been searching for a mechanic for the resort. Though Sloane would have thought the man would want someone who would join his clan, strengthen it, he had offered Sloane the job, having heard that Sloane had been looking for some time away from his corporation. It wasn’t at all odd for one vampire to reach out to another in that manner—the vampire community was small compared to that of humans.

  In the six months he had been there, he had tried to keep mostly to himself, enjoying the beauty of the sun and the sea, using them to try to heal.

  Though he didn’t judge them for their sexual proclivities, Sloane still couldn’t bring himself to feed off one of the fangers. Didn’t those people understand that, clan rules or not, their lives were very much in danger whenever they were around a vampire at all, let alone in a sexual situation with one?

  Though there were no official reports, neighboring islands whispered about the disappearances. No matter how invisible a person might be, someone always noticed when a person vanished as if they had never existed.

  For vampires, sex and feeding were very much linked. Having sexual contact with one was like waving a red banner in front of a bull. And with her
intoxicating scent, the fresh, innocent woman he was watching would attract more attention than most.

  Tearing his eyes away from the sweet morsel of a human, Sloane found Pierre, the island’s general maintenance worker, standing inches behind him, fangs out and lust in his eyes. The aggressive stance forced Sloane’s own fangs to descend, and he hissed, long and deep.

  Pierre blinked, some of his bloodlust clearing. He raked a hand through his long, scraggly hair and with visible difficulty retracted his fangs.

  “Sorry, man.” He took several deliberate steps back, rocking a bit on the deck of the boat that Sloane was repairing—the boat that would have picked the human up at the airport had it been functional. The young vampire was still clumsy, unsure of his skin, not unlike a newborn baby.

  Sloane supposed that he should be nicer to the kid. He had no more seniority on Vampire Island than Pierre did—didn’t consider himself a member of the clan that inhabited it and had no interest in joining. But he was a dangerous vampire all the same, a creature who had been in the military before his death and after.

  Still, no matter how young the newborn was, Sloane did not like being snuck up on, and to emphasize his point, he snarled for longer than was strictly necessary.

  Pierre issued a noise not unlike the whine of a puppy. “Dude. I said I was sorry. I just...I mean, look at her. She’s so sweet. I didn’t mean to disrespect you. I just couldn’t help myself.”

  Sloane stared down the younger vamp, then nodded once, seriously. He was itching to turn back to the woman. He could still smell her, and though he was old enough to know better, he understood completely why Pierre had lost momentary control.

  Since arriving on the island six months earlier, he had hunted animals to get his blood. Before that he would drink either animal blood from the butcher’s, or human blood that had been donated to a blood bank, but he hadn’t fed from a human vein in a very long time. In his mind, doing so made him no better than an animal himself, and he wasn’t sure that he could control himself if he did.

  The smell of this beautiful woman, however, was tempting him like nothing he had ever known. No matter that she likely wasn’t as innocent as she appeared, that very same quality tugged at him, likely, he knew, because he had so long ago lost any shred of his own.

  “Doesn’t look like a fanger, eh?” Pulling his fangs back into his gum line, Sloane resisted the urge to grab Pierre by the scruff of his neck and throw him off the small boat and into the water for the comment.

  If he wanted to stay on Vampire Island, and for the time being he did, he couldn’t. Though he hadn’t pledged allegiance to the clan, he still had to abide by its rules. The vampire version of “my roof, my rules.”

  Though he was now acquainted with the rumors about Lucian St. Baptiste’s illness, the vampire still cast a dark shadow. Sloane knew his reputation well. Outsiders did not lay hands on any of his children, vampire or human, without facing dire consequences. The vampire kept a tight rein on the rules because if he did not, his entire delicate ecosystem could crumble in an instant.

  Not that that scared Sloane, at least not overmuch. It was more that he didn’t wish to rock the boat, not while current circumstances suited him so well. Though he did find it odd that he hadn’t yet met his employer, he figured the man was ill, eccentric or both, and it was no business of his.

  “Go away, Pierre.” Looking down at the boat that he was standing on, Sloane chose words instead of fists. He didn’t want to argue with the young pup of a vampire—he wanted to retreat, away from the enticing smell of the woman, away from the disturbing memories that she evoked. He wanted to go sequester himself on the houseboat on which he currently lived with the tequila that he kept in the freezer for the occasions when he needed oblivion.

  He couldn’t, nor could he toss Pierre into the water the way that he wanted to. He was old enough himself, had learned enough control, to do so. “And stay away from that human if you know what’s good for you. Any who are that pretty are for Lucian, and you know it.”

  “I was just looking, man.” Surly like a teenager, Pierre began to skulk off the boat, his white skin looking even paler in the mid-afternoon sun. “Besides, Marcus wanted to know if this boat will be ready soon.”

  “It’ll be done by the time you get back there to tell him.” Tightening one last screw, Sloane straightened and, stretching to his full height of six foot five, pulled his water bottle from the small cooler beside him. It was opaque plastic, the better to hide the contents—nicely chilled pig’s blood—from the humans on the island, although many knew exactly what was in it.

  Most would have even offered to provide it.

  “Fine.” Sloane sighed as Pierre finally—finally—left, breaking into a full run at vampire speed the moment his feet touched the sand, off to report back to Marcus, his master.

  Sloane watched as the woman and Gaspar, who in his opinion was far too friendly with all of the females on the island, drove away to the complex. Her scent lingered in the air around him, teasing his senses and making him hungry.

  Making him hungry in more ways than one. The thirst that burned in his throat despite his drink made him full of irritation with himself.

  He’d been off his game lately, true enough—that was why he was hiding away in the middle of the South Pacific to begin with. Once upon a time, he had had no qualms about biting—and having sex with—beautiful human women. Then he had met Ana and had wanted to keep her with him forever. He’d turned her.

  The result had shown him that he would likely never touch another human woman again.

  Still, of late he had been feeling lonely. His best friend, a human male, had passed away only months earlier, and Sloane had been reminded of why humans in general were bad news. He needed to stay away from them entirely.

  Drooling—and lusting—after tiny little redheaded warm blood was not a good start.

  * * *

  “Has she arrived?” Lucian St. Baptiste pursed his lips in agitation at the overly eager female voice on the other end of the phone line. Humans were, to him, no more than a source for food and sex, and to have his occasional dinner call his personal line irritated him to no end.

  “You got her on the plane?”

  “I did. It wasn’t easy to convince her to go.” He could hear the frown in Jessie Spencer’s voice. Really, it had been too perfect to discover that his descendant’s friend had a serious fascination for the occult. The vampire he had sent to gather information on Isla had only had to do some gentle convincing for Jessie to agree to a consensual bite.

  After that she had been hooked, an addict desperate for her next fix. She would have done anything for an invitation to come live on Vampire Island—and that included setting up the woman who had once been her best friend.

  “This number was given to you for use if, and only if, you had difficulties getting Isla on her way to the island.” Lucian layered his voice with steel. “I do not understand why you are calling. I am not pleased.”

  There was a momentary silence, followed by panic so rich that he could almost smell it. “I’m sorry, sir. Truly. I...I just wanted to make sure that everything else was still in place. You know...about me moving to the island.”

  Lucian hissed out a breath.

  He needed the blood of his descendant, and this woman had delivered Isla to the island. In return, he had promised her residence.

  “I gave you my word, and it will be honored.” Having lost interest in the conversation, he turned his attention to the text that had just come through on his cell phone. It was from Gaspar, the man he had assigned to be the woman’s shadow for the time it took to woo her to his side.

  He would take blood by force, if need be, but it was so much sweeter when the human came willingly. And he had been waiting a very long time for this blood.

  Subject has arrived.

  This was all that Gaspar wrote, but Lucian’s lips curled into a smile. He cut off the stammering woman on the other end of the p
hone.

  “Details will be sent soon. Do not call here again.” Standing as he hung up the private line, Lucian paced to the window of his office, staring out at the sunshine that he no longer enjoyed. The legend of vampires burning in the sun was nonsense, of course, but he found that it worsened his headaches.

  Yes, he couldn’t wait to taste Miss Isla Miller’s blood. It couldn’t come soon enough.

  Chapter 2

  Isla had grown up in a wealthy suburban neighborhood in a large house with a manicured lawn. Even still, the small bungalow to which she had been assigned made her jaw drop.

  “This is our most exclusive bungalow.” Gaspar sounded proud as he waited for Isla to catch up. She didn’t seem able to keep up with his freakishly quick pace. Slapping one hand on the side of the building, she leaned against the wood as she tried to capture her breath.

  “It’s...lovely.” She knew that she seemed like a complete rube, but Isla couldn’t help looking around her with wide eyes. The bungalow was larger than her entire apartment at home—an apartment that her mother and sisters lifted their noses at—and was built right over the water. She swallowed thickly, regarding the stilts that, though they appeared sturdy enough, had the opening credits of Jaws running through her head.

  “You have not seen the inside yet.” With a wide smile, Gaspar opened the door wide and ushered Isla inside. As Gaspar pointed out the Egyptian-cotton sheets, the Jacuzzi bath overlooking the ocean and the breathtaking view of the horizon, Isla felt something uncomfortable skitter over her skin. Her attention had been caught by the thick panel of glass in the floor that allowed her to see the dark water beneath the structure.

  “Breathtaking, is it not?” Isla started when Gaspar spoke from right behind her. She had thought he was across the room. She turned and found him staring into the depths of the water beneath their feet, entranced.

  “How thick is this glass?” She could hear the nerves in her words, and Gaspar’s soft chuckle and reassuring smile did nothing to alleviate the sensation of being...well, exposed was the best thing that she could think of.