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

by Opal Carew

  Before long, the light in the room faded, and I found myself playing in the near dark. I was so focused on the music, the knock on my door caught me by surprise. I put the instrument down on the kitchen table and walked with a smile to the door, then flicked on the foyer light as I opened it.

  Samantha stood in the doorway looking as beautiful as I’d ever seen her. A seductively natural ponytail turned her hair into a golden stream. Long wisps hung down along her face. The deep V-neck of her ivory satin blouse exposed a wide expanse of flawless skin. Two loops of a long beaded necklace surrounded her neck, suggesting a path for my lips, and a longer one dangled down the front of her blouse.

  “Wow.”

  She grinned crookedly and leaned against the door jamb. “So, I realize I’m being presumptuous here, but I was hoping you would want to take me out.”

  I motioned for her to come in and shut the door behind her. “It would be my pleasure. Did you have anything in mind?”

  “Actually, yes. One of my friends at work raves about this jazz bar up by Eight Mile.”

  I smiled. I knew the one she was talking about and had gone there with Langston a number of times years ago. “That sounds great.” I looked down at my jeans and T-shirt. “I should put on something a little nicer. Do you mind waiting?” I motioned to the couch. Then, noticing the only light was in the foyer, I walked into the living room and turned on a lamp.

  Samantha followed me. “Not at all. Go ahead.”

  I ran upstairs to the master bedroom. I didn’t really have any dress clothes here, but I did have a pair of black jeans and my brown leather coat. It would do. Most of my belongings remained at Edmund Place.

  I hurried back downstairs but didn’t find Samantha in the living room, so I continued into the now-lit kitchen. She stood fingering the body of the violin. I watched her for several minutes and thought I could look at her forever. I shook my head at myself.

  “Oh, God! You scared me!” She clasped her hands to her chest. Her heart rate escalated wildly. Her surprise tingled in my gut.

  “Sorry.”

  “I just didn’t hear you.” She laughed, then looked back down at the violin again. She reached out one hand to touch it. “This is beautiful, Lucien. It looks very old.”

  “Thank you. It is. It’s been in my family for generations. My grandfather gave it to me when I was a teenager.”

  “Were you playing when I came to the door?” She peeked up at me through the fallen wisps of her hair.

  I nodded.

  “In the dark?”

  I smiled and shrugged. “Sometimes I lose track of what’s going on around me when I’m playing.”

  She traced the strings absentmindedly. “The music of the night.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, for some reason your playing in the dark reminded me of that song from Phantom of the Opera. Do you know it?”

  I took a step forward, and she took a step back. I picked up the violin and the bow and, standing before her, positioned the instrument, closed my eyes, and played. The sweet melody rang out in the room until she gasped.

  When I hit the high note midway through the song, I smelled the salt. I opened my eyes to see two tears had snuck out of the corners of hers.

  I’d never thought about it, but the lyrics of the song were applicable to our situation. I played it with reinvigorated enthusiasm, willing her to hear the words—words I couldn’t say about things I had no business wanting. When I hit the high note at the end, she lost her fight to cry quietly and let out a small whimper.

  I lowered the instrument, completely taken with her reaction.

  “Oh God, Lucien. That was incredible.” She fanned herself with her hands and took a deep breath, then laughed. She wiped at her tears with the back of her hands. “That is my favorite musical. I’ve been to see it three times. I cry every time. That was the most beautiful version of that song I’ve ever heard.”

  I set the violin down and turned to her. Cupping a hand around each side of her face, I brushed away the last of her tears with my thumbs.

  Then I lowered my face to hers and slowly kissed the salt off her skin across both cheekbones. She brought her hands up and grabbed my biceps. Her heart raced against my chest. I walked her back into the island and lifted her up onto the cool hard surface.

  I worked my lips down to hers as she trembled against me. Her hands slid up around my neck, and she pulled me further into her. The kiss was slow and sweet and filled with longing.

  Could this really be happening? And what is “this”? I pushed the inner turmoil away. Just be, just feel, Lucien. For once. So I did. I wrapped a hand behind her head and pulled her into me. I licked at her lips, and she opened. We moaned into each other’s mouths as our tongues traded caresses.

  “Lucien.”

  The sound of my name falling from her lips unhinged me.

  I needed more.

  I ran open-mouthed kisses across her jaw and down her neck, breathing in her feminine scent and tasting her sweetness. She threw her head back and threaded her fingers into my hair. I hardened and, all at once, the smell of her throat and the intensity of her heat were too much. I pulled back, panting, while I still held her face in my hands.

  She smiled.

  “Shall we go?” I rubbed my thumb over her lower lip.

  “We should.” She gripped my arms as I helped her down from the counter.

  I took her hand in one of mine and led her out of the house to my car. I tugged at my hair as I brushed it back off my face and struggled to find the will to use caution, have patience.

  In less than half an hour, we pulled up in front of the club. The large white neon sign of Baker’s Keyboard Lounge illuminated the street in front of the building.

  An older man in a sharp gold suit coat and black tie showed us to a table in the second row. Samantha smiled excitedly and pointed to the famous keyboard design of the curved bar and the framed photographs on the surrounding walls of all the jazz greats who’d played here over the years. The waitress came up to our table, and we each ordered a glass of red wine.

  The jazz quartet had a lean, exhilarating sound. Several songs and another glass of wine for Sam later, the saxman exchanged his tenor for a soprano and launched into a tender, lyrical piece.

  Samantha leaned against me. I wrapped my arm around her, relishing her warmth as she stayed in that position through the rest of the set. Everywhere we touched, the soft rush of blood through her veins caressed me. I found it a comforting sensation.

  When the set ended, Samantha excused herself. I rose when she returned, earning a kiss on the side of the mouth. Again, I had to resist turning it into more.

  “That was wonderful. This place is great. Thank you so much for bringing me. I never have the chance to do something like this.”

  I tucked a strand of gold behind one ear. “The pleasure was mine, Sam. Truly.” I ushered her to the door and out into the night.

  I offered to drive her right to her front door, but she insisted we park on the street by my house. Smiling at her feistiness, I came around and opened her door. In one fluid move, she stepped out of the car and curled her arms around my neck.

  The kiss started soft but became urgent.

  Wrapping my arms around her body, the heat of her lust hit me again. I pulled her tight to me. When my erection came to life, I couldn’t resist pressing into her hips. Her soft moans turned into a groan that thrilled me. I slid my hand up to the back of her head and tugged gently on her ponytail, tilting her head back until her neck opened. I kissed and licked across her jawline to her ear, then ran my tongue down the side of her neck.

  Don’t fucking mess this up, Lucien! I clamped down any hint of bloodlust and kept my eyes drained and fangs retracted as I worked over her carotid artery. Her sweet essence tantalized, tormented. I shuddered.

  She moaned and fisted her hands in my hair. I loved the way she pulled at it. I groaned and skimmed my lips back up the elegant column of her throat, the
tingling in my canines growing fierce, before finding her mouth again and again. I throbbed from the pressure our embrace created. She tilted her hips into mine, and I grasped her bottom and pressed her into me harder. She whimpered. I grunted. Our mouths and bodies hungered and sought out the pleasure of this connection.

  Between kisses, she rasped, “I want to stay, but I have to go.”

  I pulled her more tightly to me. “Don’t go.”

  “God, Lucien,” she murmured around the edge of a kiss.

  The sound of my name out of her mouth in this moment was fascinating, particularly joined as it was by the rich smell of her arousal.

  Mine. I groaned at the thought and the feeling.

  Needing this so damn bad, I pulled her harder against me and settled us back against the car. Her body fell between my legs, and I ground my length against her stomach. My desire for her went from “I should stop this” to nuclear in seconds.

  Oblivious to my ever-present overthinking, Samantha smiled against my mouth, then panted, “I don’t want to. But I have to go. I have to get up for work in five and a half hours.”

  “Hmm” was all I managed as I continued to kiss and caress her.

  She chuckled, and I pulled back, still concentrating to keep my eyes clear and my teeth human. I stared at her for a long moment and brushed my thumb against her cheek. La perfezione. She is perfection. “Let’s get you home then.” I held my arm out to her, and she wrapped hers through it. “Before I forget…” I reached into my coat pocket, pulled out a plastic square.

  “Oh, Lucien. This is the quartet we just heard?” I nodded, smiling.

  “That’s fantastic! Thank you so much!” She kissed me on the cheek as we headed across the field. In too-few minutes, she closed her door behind her. I returned home, amazed by the current of joy and need and tension still running through my body.

  Without turning on any lights, I went right upstairs. I stripped and stepped into the shower without waiting for the water to warm.

  My body was on fire with her need and mine. The spray of the shower jets against my skin intensified my arousal. I reached down and grasped the heavy weight of my hard length, then closed my eyes as I stroked and ran a series of memories by my mind’s eye: Samantha’s lips wrapped around my finger, the smell of her arousal as she pressed herself between my legs, the taste of her mouth, the feel of my tongue penetrating her pink lips, the sound of her moans and whimpers. I was fucking aching for her. I gripped myself tighter and thrust harder. As I got closer, I braced myself against the white tile and twisted my grip around my sensitive head at the top of each stroke. I remembered the sound of Samantha groaning my name in pleasure, and that was all it took.

  “Fuck. Fuck!”

  My release erupted against the tiles in a torrent, faintly tinged with pink from the blood that invaded all my bodily fluids. I panted as I recovered from the intensity of the first orgasm I’d had in a very long time, then I cleaned myself and got out. A pair of gray boxers was all I bothered with before I climbed into bed.

  I trained my attention on each movement I made and nothing else. Given the events of the previous minutes, it took a surprising amount of concentration to harness my brain that way. Which was the point.

  Is this really happening? I groaned as my thoughts seeped through anyway. A million answers to that question paraded through my mind. Minutes passed, or hours. Finally, I sat upright in bed and combed my hands through my hair.

  Yeah. It’s happening. “It” being the fact I was in love. With a human. Who I had been planning to kill.

  The shock of the admission drove me out of bed. I threw on clothes in a rush, ran down the stairs, flew out the door, and jumped into my car.

  I drove the rest of the night.

  On the highway, I blasted music on successive rock stations to drown out my thoughts. Four hundred miles and five hours later, I sped the Camaro up the gravel drive and parked, then got out and quietly shut the door.

  Orchard Hill stood in front of me.

  Chapter Eight

  Orchard Hill was a thousand-acre estate in North Ithaca, New York, my vampire family’s home for the past 216 years.

  The main house was white, a sprawling two-story with blue shutters and a red door. Newer wings flanked an older center block dating to the eighteenth century. Low limestone walls marked off paths and gardens, and a large pond sat behind the house. A gravel lane circled in front, surrounding an ancient cherry tree—one of many old trees embracing the house. I had always found the structure and the setting surprisingly charming.

  Griffin was the first one out the door, surely alerted by the motion detectors at the beginning of the long drive. He was tall and lean and had close- cropped jet black hair. His deep-set silver eyes rested over defined cheekbones and under a pronounced brow and strong forehead. He was the oldest of our group and our leader, having changed everyone among us except me and William’s wife, Anna. Griffin exuded power and authority, but could be extremely compassionate, which was what I saw in his eyes as I stood in the dark outside his house.

  “Lucien? What’s wrong?” He walked over to where I was leaning on the car.

  I folded my arms and tilted my head back to look up at the predawn sky. It was going to be sunny. I shook my head once. It was enough for him.

  The others assembled at the front door. Griffin raised his hand to them just as someone gathered a breath to shout a greeting. He had the strongest charming power any of us had ever seen—they all froze. It was a sure mark of Griffin’s concern he was using his ability on them. Then he lowered his hand. They got the message and went back inside.

  I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, because if I did, I would have to say something. But I didn’t know what to say. That was it. “Do you mind if, for right now, I don’t say?”

  “Come on.” He placed a hand on my shoulder and pulled me along. “Everyone will be happy to see you.”

  I nodded and followed.

  Rebecca was waiting in the foyer with a big grin. She was the youngest of the group, barely seventeen when she’d been changed. Her immaturity most expressed itself by actually voicing those things no one else would. She didn’t seem to have an internal filter, but it wasn’t a character flaw.

  I melted under her gaze. Though I’d never shared this observation with any of them, her brown hair and pretty girlish features reminded me of Isabetta, or at least what I imagined she would’ve looked like if the events of that horrible May night had never happened.

  “You came, Lucien!” She threw her arms around my neck.

  Her delight invigorated me, and I laughed. “Yes, I did. Hello, Rebecca.”

  She released me, a huge smile still on her face. Her husband, Jedediah, stuck out his hand. Jed was average in height, with unkempt brown hair and gray eyes. He’d always been like a brother to me and never hesitated to set me straight when needed, which was often. “Did you come to see me, too?”

  I took his hand and smirked. “Hell, no.” He squeezed my hand hard. I shoved him away playfully, then looked around. “Where’s everybody else?”

  Griffin shut the door behind us. “Hen just went out back in her garden. William and Anna are at their cabin. And Catherine went out last night and hasn’t yet returned.”

  Given my strange state of mind, I was happy William wasn’t around. Our relationship had always been rocky and competitive. I wasn’t up to his verbal sparring at that moment.

  Rebecca threaded her arm through mine and walked me over to the sofa, then pulled me down next to her. She looked at me expectantly. “The last time we saw each other you promised to play for me. So…did you bring your violin?”

  I laughed again and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry.”

  “Lucien! Fine.” She flew out of the room and returned several minutes later with a wrapped package. “I was saving this for Christmas. But since some people are difficult…”

  She set the package down on my lap and motioned for me to open it. Jed and Griffin
settled themselves down in the surrounding chairs and smiled openly at Rebecca being Rebecca.

  I tore the paper off the long rectangular box and lifted its lid. Inside was a pristine black violin case. My eyebrows shot up. “Rebecca.”

  She grabbed the case and shoved the box and paper to the floor next to me. Then she laid the case on my lap. “Open it!”

  I undid the clasps and tilted the lid back. Inside was a shiny black violin, a sleek and darkly beautiful Luis and Clark. I lifted it, sliding the case to the sofa next to me. It weighed less than my Ceruti.

  Rebecca pulled a bow out from behind her back and handed it to me. “Try it out, Lucien. The sound is supposed to be particularly resonating.”

  I looked at her as I lifted the instrument to my shoulder. I launched into one of the Bach pieces I’d played the other night and was stunned by the sound. After a minute, I lowered the instrument to my lap. “It’s incredible. Thank you. But, why—”

  “It’s made by hand of carbon fiber, which is supposed to be very durable. I, uh, peeked at your other violin while we were at your house last time.” She was mildly embarrassed, but her feelings were more triumphant than anything. At nearly two hundred years old, the Ceruti showed its age. “I thought you might like a new one to play sometimes.”

  I loved that she knew nothing could ever actually replace the Ceruti. I set the Luis and Clark in its case. “Wow, Rebecca. Thank you so much.” I hugged her into my chest.

  She leaned back and stroked her fingers along my cheek bone. Her eyes were full of sisterly love for me. “If I had known this was all it would take to make you happy, Lucien, I would have gotten you a new violin years ago.” She smiled. “Will you play us a concert later?”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay, then. My work is done here. Come on, Jed.” She flitted over to her mate’s side and took his hand. He half smiled, half smirked at me and followed her upstairs.

  I looked at Griffin. “I’d like to go say hello to Henrietta.”

  “Of course. She’s going to be thrilled to see you.”