Tall, Dark and Paranormal: 10 Thrilling Tales of Sexy Alpha Bad Boys

by Opal Carew

  Samantha’s confusion rolled through my body and played out across her face.

  The two humans who’d filled my thoughts and senses over the past weeks stood before me…together? The woman I planned to kill. The child I vowed to protect. Together.

  Questions and sensations inundated me. Amid it all, I was careful to keep my hands pressed back against the truck. I didn’t want Samantha to be any more alarmed than she already was. And I didn’t want to chance harming Ollie.

  Ollie. Olivia. Cazzo! This was the daughter about whom Samantha spoke so lovingly. The blonde hair, the aquamarine eyes. How had I not put them together?

  “I never really thanked you,” Ollie gushed in a loud whisper.

  “Olivia! What do you think you’re—” Samantha’s heart skipped a beat as she focused on me and recognition dawned. “I…I know you…from the hospital?” She placed a hand on Ollie’s shoulder and prodded the girl to release her grip on me and stand back.

  Undeterred, Ollie beamed up at me. So striking was the girl’s attention it took a concerted effort to focus on Samantha’s lovely voice.

  I chanced a breath. “Yes. Sorry,” I said, not sure exactly what I was apologizing for but feeling it necessary nonetheless. “Lucien Demarco,” I reminded her.

  An awkward silence filled the air for a few long moments, and then Samantha asked, “Um, I’m sorry, but how do you know Olivia?” Her fear smelled appealing though the acridity of her anger tasted sour.

  “Right. Sorry. I helped Ollie the other morning,” I began. “She…fell down in the street. I was working here,” I said, nodding to the house behind us, “and saw her. I invited her to sit on my porch until she felt better.” As I spoke, I could feel the wheels in Samantha’s brain moving. The flavor of her relief began to replace the scent of her fear.

  She looked down at her daughter. “When was this?”

  Ollie shuffled her feet, the smile gone from her face.

  “Ollie, answer me, honey.”

  “On Saturday morning.” Ollie sniffled. “I woke up early and I got bored, so I went outside—”

  “You came all the way over here to the street?” Samantha asked, alarmed again.

  Ollie was too scared to answer as the tears streamed down her face.

  Samantha knelt. “Olivia Sutton! How many times do I have to tell you? You cannot just wander away from the house like that!” Samantha thought for a moment, then a new wave of frustration came from her. “Were you trying to go to the playground? By yourself?”

  A fresh round of tears sprung from Ollie’s eyes as she nodded.

  Samantha closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Promise me you will not do that again, Olivia. You could have been hurt. You could have been…Promise me.”

  “I promise, Mommy,” Ollie whispered.

  Throughout this exchange, I felt like a caged lion, held in place by the force of the drama unfolding before me—a drama powerful only because of who was starring in it. At the same time, my throat was starting to burn from the prolonged exposure to their scent, their blood, their emotions. I snapped out of these considerations as Samantha stood up and addressed me.

  “I’m sorry, Lucien. I’m sorry Ollie bothered you, and I’m sorry I…lost it…a little…here.”

  “Not at all,” I replied thickly. “And Ollie was no bother, really. I was going to walk her home when we heard you calling for her. She’s a sweet girl. You’re very lucky,” I said, my voice trailing off toward the end. Those words held more truth than she’d ever know.

  “Yes, I am.” Samantha ruffled her daughter’s hair. Ollie’s eyes were drying as she stood shyly against the man. “Oh,” Samantha said, noticing, “this is my father, Joe, by the way.”

  The man and I exchanged nods, and Samantha looked back to me.

  “So…do you live here? I’ve always wondered about this place. I love old houses.”

  We all walked around my truck to the curb. Her movements were easy, graceful.

  “I’ve just finished renovating it for the owner and am leasing it. It’s sort of a hobby for me. I love old houses and enjoy bringing them back to life.”

  “That’s really great,” she said, looking the house over.

  “Would you like to see the inside? You’re more than welcome,” I offered, looking at all of them. My earlier imagining of Samantha in my living room came to mind. I licked my lips but then shook the image away. I diverted my eyes so as to not influence her.

  “Well…” Samantha glanced down at her watch. The sun was fully set now. “Maybe another time? It’s Ollie’s bedtime, and we should probably head home.”

  “Of course.”

  “Good night,” Samantha said, “and thanks again.” Her happiness resurfaced, warm and sweet. “Olivia, say ‘good night’ to Lucien.”

  “Good night, Lucien.” She turned and whispered something to her mother, though it didn’t escape my ears.

  I found myself stunned, again.

  “Uh…I don’t know, honey. You’ll have to ask him,” Samantha said, a mystified undercurrent to her voice.

  Ollie looked at me uncertainly for a moment, and then the bright smile returned to her face. “Lucien, can I give you a hug good-bye?” she asked unselfconsciously.

  After a few seconds, I closed my gaping mouth and lowered myself to one knee, working hard to remain casual. “Sure, Ollie.” I held my breath and threw walls up around all the reasons this was so wrong.

  She ran the four steps between us and flung her arms around my neck.

  Oh Dio! Her skin was so soft against me. With surprise, I recognized the warmth that ran up my spine as affection.

  “Good-bye, Lucien. Good night,” she sang.

  I patted her twice on the back and looked up at Samantha’s dumbfounded expression. She and Joe exchanged a meaningful glance, then she smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “Sorry,” she mouthed.

  I shook my head and tried to make her understand I didn’t mind. Not at all. In fact I craved the innocent, affectionate touch more than I realized. More than I should. “Good night, Ollie,” I breathed. “Sweet dreams.”

  She smiled, then turned and skipped down the sidewalk with Joe. I stood back up.

  “She never does that.” Samantha looked at me. “You should feel really special.”

  I flinched at the kind words.

  “Well, see you around then,” she said, turning to catch up with her family. “Thanks again.”

  “You’re welcome, Sam.” I regretted seeing them leave and immediately missed their company and the pleasure of their emotions. I sucked in a deep breath as the atmosphere around me seemed to change in composition. My head was spinning.

  What are the chances? The woman I planned to kill—the innocent—was Ollie’s mother, the very girl whom I had just saved and pledged to protect. I walked to the porch railing and threaded my fingers through it, then leaned forward and banged my head against the thick ornate woodwork. Humans are so fucking messy, Lucien! This is why you should stay away!

  But I wasn’t sure I could.

  ***

  My longing for Samantha drew me to her window just after midnight. I was surprised to find a dim light on in her room. She sat in her bed with her back against the headboard and her knees drawn up. She was writing and, even from outside, the warmth and comfort of her love radiated.

  She wrote for half an hour, occasionally leaning her head back against the white headboard and putting the pen in the corner of her mouth. She finally closed the book and slipped it into the top drawer of her bedside table. She sat for a moment and then reached over to shut off the light. Her body slid down into the covers and pillows. Soon she was asleep.

  I dissected the evening’s events from every conceivable angle and particularly noted the intensity of my bloodlust. That would need to be addressed if I hoped to draw this out.

  But what is “this” now?

  I kept vigil until the first warm pink touched the edge of the sky. My emotional tank more filled tha
n I could ever remember it being just from hours in her presence, I finally returned home.

  The furniture delivery truck arrived at nine o’clock that morning. Several rooms’ worth of furniture took an inordinately long time for two human men to unload and set up. I itched to just do it myself.

  Why am I so impatient, anyway? Restlessness unsettled me, filled me with nervous energy. Arranging the furniture the way I wanted it was useless as a distraction.

  Downstairs, a knock sounded against the open front door. A moment later, my senses told me who’d arrived. Dio help me, I wanted to see them. I had to see them—it was obvious I was here. But it seemed like such a bad idea considering my desire for Samantha and protectiveness for Ollie. Those two imperatives were in direct conflict.

  Knuckles rapped against the door frame again. “Hello? Lucien?”

  I debated for one last moment, then attempted to restrain the speed of my movement as I rushed downstairs. Samantha and Ollie filled the doorway, both looking around with wide, curious eyes. Samantha smiled up at me as I came down the last few steps.

  I drank her in through all my senses. Saliva filled my mouth, and I forcefully swallowed and took a deep breath.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hello,” I replied, a hopefully warm smile on my lips. The calmness that now spread through me seemed to explain my earlier anxiety—I’d been anticipating seeing them again.

  “Happy house, Lucien,” Ollie said enthusiastically. She held out a foil-covered plate. The space was so thick with her excitement I was swimming in it.

  I took the plate from her and met her eyes. “Thank you, Ollie. How thoughtful of you.”

  “This looks like a bad time. We can stop back later,” Samantha hedged.

  Silencing the nagging voice in my head, I said, “It’s no problem, Sam. The delivery men are just finishing up. I’m glad you came.” And it was true. Her presence centered me. When she wasn’t around, I felt literally depressed. When she was near me, a weight lifted off, like I could stand straighter.

  I could only imagine how much more potent that sensation would be if it was running through my veins…I shoved the thought away. Samantha’s relationship with Ollie undid my plans, even though a small part of me remained desperate to have her.

  Ollie’s excitement regained my attention. Hands clasped underneath her chin, she danced from side to side. “Aren’t you going to open it?” she finally asked, pointing to the plate.

  I laughed. Laughed.

  “We’re a little excited about what’s on that plate, if you couldn’t tell,” Samantha joked.

  “I would love to open it. Come on, let’s go in the kitchen.”

  Her little face lit up further.

  We stepped around broken-down boxes and other moving mess in the living room on our way to the kitchen at the rear of the first floor. I set the plate down on the counter.

  “Shall I?” I asked Ollie with my fingers poised to lift the foil.

  “Yes! Let me help.” She moved her hands to the other side of the plate and began unwrapping. “Ta- da!” she sang as she pulled off the foil with a flourish, revealing a round golden cake drizzled with a thin white icing.

  “This looks delicious, Ollie. Thank you.”

  She was bouncing again, bursting with anticipation. “Mommy and me made it!” The fervor of her emotions reminded me of the nervous energy that had filled me earlier.

  I smiled at her. “You made this?” I asked as she nodded eagerly at me. “You are really something. This is very thoughtful.” I looked at Samantha. “Thank you, Sam. Truly.”

  “You’re welcome. Just a little something to welcome you to the neighborhood. It’s so nice to see this place lived in and looking so nice. You’ve really done a wonderful job in here,” she said as she looked around.

  “Mo-ommm!” Ollie cried to recapture our attention.

  Samantha looked down at her playfully. “Wha-at?”

  Ollie turned her attention back to me. “Do you know what it is, Lucien?”

  “Um, a cake?” I hadn’t eaten one in one hundred thirteen years, since my last birthday, in fact, but I was fairly certain I recognized a cake when I saw one.

  “But what kind of cake is it?” she asked, as if I was missing an obvious point.

  My sense of smell was of no help. It just smelled sweet to me. I looked down at the cake again. It was white. So I ventured a guess. “White cake?”

  “Noooo!” She giggled at my mistake. “Guess again!”

  “Um…”

  Samantha looked at me curiously. A mild sensation of amused disbelief rolled off her.

  Clearly a normal person would recognize what was on that plate.

  So I made a game of it. “Chocolate cake?”

  “NOOO!” Ollie laughed hard now. “Lucien!” She giggled impatiently.

  “All right. I give. What kind is it?” I asked her.

  “It’s angel food cake!”

  “Of course. Angel food cake. That’s great, Ollie. Thanks so much, again.”

  She deflated at my reaction.

  What am I missing? I couldn’t come up with anything, so I deflected. “Well, since I’ll never eat all of this by myself, will you two please have some?”

  Ollie looked at Samantha hopefully.

  “Okay, a small piece.” Samantha smiled and looked at me. “She’s been busting at the seams all morning to try it.” She set the plastic bag she’d been holding on the counter. “I figured you wouldn’t have your kitchen set up yet, so I brought some paper goods.”

  “Thank you, Sam.” I made a mental note to buy kitchen supplies in case they came again.

  As I turned to fill the plastic cups with water, Samantha offered to cut the cake. She laid a thick slab of the fluffy-looking confection on a plate and pushed it toward where I had been standing. Then she proceeded to cut two smaller pieces for herself and Ollie.

  I turned toward them with the drinks. “Shall we sit?”

  Ollie scampered over to the table balancing her plate and fork. She pulled out a chair and climbed up. “I want Lucien to sit next to me,” she said, looking between Samantha and me.

  I withheld any reaction to her words, though they lit me up inside, and pulled the chair out for Samantha. When I took the seat next to Ollie, her fork was poised above her cake. She looked at me expectantly, so I picked up my fork.

  There was no way I was going to be able to avoid eating.

  It had been a long time since I’d needed to ingest human food. Back in my earliest days at my adoptive family’s New York estate, Orchard Hill, my “brothers,” William and Jed, had enjoyed watching me try to learn how to eat food. Knowing my stomach would revolt, they would snicker and howl with laughter when my body violently rebelled. It was exhausting.

  And they tested me too—the better I got at keeping the food down, the more exotic the food and the larger the portions they offered. Indeed, more than a few dares and bets circulated amongst the men during my years at Orchard Hill. However repulsive, it was necessary to master the consumption of food. Doing so was a safety measure; we needed to be able to pass as human in all conceivable ways.

  But there was a cost to our bodies. The food either had to come back up or be destroyed internally. Our bodies were simply not equipped to process it. Whereas for humans the consumption of food was nourishing, for vampires the consumption of food was draining. Ridding ourselves of the foreign matter necessitated an expenditure of blood and energy.

  Ollie was still looking at me expectantly, so I sliced my fork through the spongy cake and scooped a bit into my mouth. “Mmm,” I said as I beat down my gag reflex.

  They began eating too.

  “Do you really like it, Lucien?”

  “Absolutely. It’s delicious.” Another bite slid dryly down my throat. Why am I putting myself through this again?

  “We were going to bring chocolate chip cookies,” Samantha chimed in, distracting me. “But Ollie absolutely insisted we make angel food. I ha
d to send my dad out to the market for all the eggs and sugar.” She laughed.

  “I told you, Mommy, it had to be angel food,” Ollie said in exasperation.

  Eager to get the cake over with, I choked down a large bite while they were looking at their plates. “It really is good, Ollie,” I offered, then pushed the plate away.

  “Aren’t you going to finish it?”

  “Absolutely. But…I just finished breakfast. So I’ll have some again later.”

  For a moment she frowned, but then shrugged and took another bite of her piece.

  Just then, the delivery men called from the front hall. “Mr. Demarco? We’re all done.”

  “Excuse me, please.” I walked out to the foyer to the man holding the clipboard.

  “Do you want to walk through and inspect everything?” he asked.

  “No. I’ve worked with your company before. If I see a problem, I’ll call.” I took the clipboard and signed where required. The men stepped out and closed the door behind them. I inhaled a deep breath of air less tinged with Samantha’s and Ollie’s scents. When I returned to the kitchen, Samantha was replacing the foil on the cake.

  “Would you like a tour?” I asked hopefully.

  “Sure,” Samantha said, smiling.

  As I walked them through the house, I delighted in Samantha’s observations, questions, and compliments. I reveled in her seeming ease with me.

  Ollie danced around us, trying out the furniture here and hiding behind it there.

  I basked in their light. Their happiness was sweet and warm. Parts of me felt tempted to life that had long ago been buried.

  As we made our way back through the house, Ollie’s exuberance continued, and she skipped and jumped and sang.

  “Sugar,” Samantha said ruefully.

  Ollie began down the steps ahead of us, then turned to say something to Samantha. The next thing I knew, she was in a free fall. Before I’d even thought through the consequences, I jumped down eight steps and caught Ollie mid fall.

  “Whoa—you okay?” I asked a startled Ollie. She nodded vigorously.