The Vampires' Last Lover (Dying of the Dark Vampires Book 1)

by Aiden James

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  © 2014 Aiden James with Patrick Burdine

  http://aidenjamesfiction.com

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  ISBN 978-1-62007-574-6 (ebook)

  ISBN 978-1-62007-575-3 (paperback)

  ISBN 978-1-62007-576-0 (hardcover)

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  A Taste of The Judas Reflections: Murder in Whitechapel, by Aiden James & Michelle Wright

  A Taste of Reborn: The Serendipitous Curse, by Aiden James & Lisa Collicutt

  A Taste of The Talisman Chronicles: The Forgotten Eden, by Aiden James

  About the Author: Aiden James

  About the Author: Patrick Burdine

  More Books from Curiosity Quills Press

  Full Table of Contents

  CADES COVE SERIES

  Cades Cove

  The Raven Mocker

  THE TALISMAN CHRONICLES

  The Forgotten Eden

  The Devil’s Paradise

  Hurakan’s Chalice (with Mike Robinson)

  GHOSTHUNTERS 101 SERIES

  Deadly Night

  The Ungrateful Dead

  THE DYING OF THE DARK SERIES

  The Vampires’ Last Lover

  The Vampires’ Birthright

  Blood Princesses of the Vampires

  THE JUDAS CHRONICLES

  Plague of Coins

  Reign of Coins

  Destiny of Coins

  The Dragon Coin

  Tyranny of Coins

  (Coming December 2013)

  WITH J.R. RAIN

  The Nick Caine Adventures

  Temple of the Jaguar

  Treasure of the Deep

  Pyramid of the Gods

  Curse of the Druids

  (Coming March 2014)

  WITH MICHELLE WRIGHT

  The Judas Reflections

  Murder in Whitechapel

  Curse of Stigmata

  WITH LISA COLLICUTT

  The Serendipitous Curse: Reborn

  WITH JAMES WYMORE

  The Actuator

  ’m starting this diary because I need to remember and the world needs to know. It could all end very soon unless the experiment to save my blood works. I mean “all” in an almost biblical sense. If this experiment works them maybe we can outlast the others. Just in case it doesn’t, I am writing as much as I can about what has happened over the last ten days and what it means to the survival of our world.

  If it doesn’t work, this is a warning that they will be coming for everyone else. They’ll feed enough to remain immortal and the rest of you—of us—will die. The beginnings of it have already started to show up on the evening news reports.

  They’ve been watching me my entire life. They have been watching my family for longer. Centuries even. Stalking the females of my line. Feeding on us at will, these hidden voyeurs in the shadows. All quiet… all hungry.

  All vampire.

  My name is Txema, pronounced ‘Chema’. Txema Ybarra. I grew up in Richmond, Virginia and though I am Basque by heritage we are like most American families of immigrant descent. My father and brothers cheer for the Redskins and my mother is the only one who still adheres to our Roman Catholic heritage though we usually go to church with her on Easter and Christmas.

  My dad worked hard to make sure that his kids had the chance to go to the good schools and he made sure we worked hard while there. We all played sports and I was even good enough – and tall enough - to get a full ride basketball scholarship to the University of Tennessee where I was studying to be a veterinarian. A fall down a stairwell back in September gave me a small tear in the ligaments of my right ankle.

  That injury might have killed my freshman basketball aspirations but it gave birth to something that may well have set all of this in motion.

  Peter Worley, my boyfriend, is tall, dark, and great-looking. He caught my eye at freshman orientation and even though we had biology lab together we never really talked much until he saw me struggling with my laptop while I was on crutches. He is a genuinely nice guy and though he says he loves the way my hazel eyes sparkle when I laugh and the wavy curls of my dark hair (I call it unruly and a pain in the ass to do anything with). I also catch him sneaking glances at my chest to know that he has a definitely appreciation for my curves.

  Blood or beauty, boys want the same thing whether they are living or dead.

  It all started on November the 9th. My birthday. He said he wanted to do something really special and I prayed he hadn’t gone ring shopping.

  “You need to get moving girl or you are going to be late.” Tyreen was smoothing out the eyeliner under her right eye with her little finger. The solid black line she used made her green eyes pop even more.

  “I know,” I said. “I’d almost rather just stay in with him.

  She turned and looked at me.

  “Are you kidding me? The entire time you had that stupid cast on all you guys did was lounge around here in the room.”

  I started to say something and she held up her hand to stop me.

  “I get it, Txema, really I do, he’s hot and he’s sweet. That’s a nice combination but you guys really need to get out some. You’ve been so close that I half expect to come in and see y’all wearing the same shirt. As in one single shirt.”

  I rolled my eyes. “But he smells so good, and he is so yummy, I just want to rub myself all over him—”

  The hand went up again.

  “As much as I like you both, I can do without that visual, thanks.” Her phone chimed and she took a look at the message. “Johnny’s downstairs waiting for me.”

  She picked up a small clutch purse that matched her outfit perfectly and leaned over to give me a kiss on the cheek. “Happy birthday.”

  “Thanks,” I stood up and gave her a hug. “You’re right, I need to hustle.”

  She closed the door behind her as she left and her keys jingled as she locked the door behind her. I stood there thinking about him for a moment. I closed my eyes and could smell his Ralph Lauren cologne in the air and taste his breath on my lips. My skin burned for his touch. I’ve heard it said that initial passion can smother you if you’re not careful but I found it almost impossible to think of anything other than being with him. Even my normally steadfast routine of studying and excelling in classwork had been disrupted by his delicious distraction.

  Yet despite all of that, despite the absolute hunger to be near him that drove me to distraction, there was some part of me that refused to commit myself to him completely. I told myself it was because we had only known each other for a few months but I was getting the feeling that he sensed this and it was starting to bother him. He was being patient with me, but he was such a catch that I was starting to worry that some other girl was going to step in and offer him the kind of commitment I was unable to.

  I shook my head to clear it of those thoughts—I really did need to get moving and I didn’t want to go into this date thinking of Peter leaving me for someone else. I walked over to the window and looked down in time to see Tyreen throw her arms around Johnny and give him a long kiss and then watched them as they started walking away, hand in hand.

&
nbsp; I turned away from the window and went over to the closet and started looking for something to wear. I wanted sexy, but I also wanted warm.

  That was when I noticed the chill in the room as though the Smoky Mountain air had rushed into the room. I looked back at the window to see if it was open and I somehow hadn’t noticed it just two minutes earlier but it was still closed. I looked at the door and blinked my eyes in surprise. I probably should have been scared but I was too confused at how there had come to be a young man leaning casually against my very closed and very locked door.

  Although he was standing in languid pose his eyes were locked in my direction, intently watching me. His skin was incredibly pale, as though it had never been touched by summer. The absurd thought that he didn’t look like he was from around here popped into my mind. It turned out that he wasn’t even from my world, really.

  ou are getting ready to go out tonight?” the man asked.

  His husky voice had a resonant timbre whose cadence reminded me of something from my childhood, perhaps some fairytale my mother had told me, and he had a genteel European accent. Long golden hair cascaded down his forehead, partially covering his eyes—eyes that glowed iridescent, the light slipping through the strands of hair like that of the moon behind a whisper of clouds.

  “Beware, Txema. Those who want to end your life have come. They are outside… waiting.”

  Staring at him, incredulous, my heart raced faster than I ever recalled before that moment. Not even while driving for a game-winning layup.

  “Who are you?” I demanded. “And, how in the hell did you get in here?”

  “I am Garvan de Sang,” he replied, stepping casually toward me.

  He wore dark jeans and a burgundy sweater. The sound of his riding boots hitting the plush carpet was muted. His ashen skin looked garishly death-like beneath my room’s fluorescent light. It was as if every inch of his skin was covered in pancake makeup.

  I instinctively retreated to my dresser. I kept a Taser gun there, given to me for protection by my older brother on the day I moved into my dorm room. But before I touched the drawer’s handle, my visitor appeared next to me, traveling silently across the room in the blink of an eye. I gasped as chills traveled up and down my spine. I considered the absurdity of what I had just witnessed, and for a moment wondered if this was some kind of waking dream. My breath rose like a small fog, and the origin of the chilled temperature I had felt before was now revealed to me in a frigid dose of reality. I could feel Garvan’s iciness siphoning the heat from more than just my body as his penetrating gaze studied me.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he said, gently pushing my fingers away from the dresser.

  The coolness in his touch deepened, embracing my entire being. I couldn’t move. I could barely even think of moving.

  “We won’t hurt you, Txema.”

  “Who’s we?” I demanded, surprised by the anger easily coming through despite my unease.

  The fire of my rage helped to thaw whatever icy grip he had on me. I glanced around at the stuff on my dresser and nearby on the floor, trying to see what could be used as a weapon. Perhaps my shoes, or the file in my makeup purse?

  “And, how do you know my name?”

  He started to answer me, but suddenly jerked his head toward my door, as if he heard someone lurking outside my room in the hallway. It could’ve been anyone. When does a dorm floor rest, anyway? The look on his face reflected intense concentration. I also strained to listen, unable to hear much beyond my own nervous breaths. I noticed this stranger took no breaths of his own.

  I’m not really sure why I didn’t just scream. Perhaps it was some lingering effect of his presence and of my first encounter with a world that was only supposed to exist in fairy tales and nightmares. Really, in retrospect, I should have screamed. It wasn’t like Garvan didn’t frighten me. It was insane, but I felt I could trust that this man, who alternately terrified and exhilarated me, wasn’t there to do harm.

  He remained focused on the door, which gave me a chance to study him more. Despite such paleness, he was actually quite attractive. Not much older than me, his strong brow gave his eyes a glowering look that belied his delicate features. His profile revealed gorgeous cheekbones and a sleek nose that accentuated supple lips, tinted blue. If not for the powerful build that stretched the fabric of his cashmere sweater and tight-fitted jeans, it would be easy to dismiss him as something of a pretty boy, and completely miss the fact that he was one of the most dangerous warriors to walk the planet.

  “Your man… Peter? He is coming,” he said, turning again to face me, the glow in his eyes brighter, as if on fire. “Is he always this punctual, to be so early?”

  Peter was never one to be late for anything, and as such, would often show up fifteen minutes early for our dates. Normally, I would be in the finishing touches of my makeup, which sometimes irritated him. Tonight could prove more interesting than irritating if he arrived and my uninvited guest decided to extend his visit.

  “Yes, he usually is.”

  I grabbed some lipstick off the top of the dresser. I popped the cap off and twisted it out to put on but twisted too much out. I was twisting it back down when I realized it was Tyreen’s and popped the cap back on. I set it back down on the dresser and then picked it up again and tried to hide how flustered I was feeling.

  Should I do the normal person thing and scream my head off? Or, should I follow the crazy feeling that told me instead to hide this man? Where could I do that in a cramped dormitory room? And if I couldn’t, what lame excuse would come pouring out of my mouth when I sought to explain his unwanted presence to my boyfriend? If things turned violent, I seriously doubted Peter’s athleticism would save him against Garvan’s unnatural speed.

  “You should leave… leave now!”

  “And I will, before he gets here,” said Garvan, chuckling as he regarded my panicked expression.

  The iridescent glow of his eyes twinkled in amusement. The corner of his mouth curled in an arrogant half-grin. “But, not before you promise to stay here all night. You must make sure you do. If he decides he can’t abide by this, then he leaves alone. Am I clear?”

  His face flushed as he said this and the surge of anger caused his eyes to flash even brighter. Any mirth that had been there was erased in a moment and I felt a second of animal terror, that any prey must feel in the presence of a predator. I could scarcely concentrate enough to answer, shaking my head to prevent the spell of his words from infecting my thoughts.

  “I-I don’t know if I can promise that.” I felt defiance rise against a hostile takeover of my will. “It’s my birthday, and we’ve been planning tonight’s dinner date since last week. Peter’s gone to a great deal of trouble—”

  He glanced at the door.

  “We are out of time! You leave me no choice.”

  In the instant that followed, he disappeared. At least, it seemed like he did. I felt something warm on the left side of my neck. The warmth soon became painful, two pinpricks that felt as if little knives were digging into my flesh. Then I heard the window’s latch unclick and click shut in rapid succession.

  I gasped and reached up to where my neck throbbed, like a little girl who just got stung by a wasp or venomous spider. Wetness grazed my fingers. When I brought my shaking hand before my eyes, there was blood. It dripped down my fingers.

  Just then, Peter’s familiar knock rapped upon my door.

  “I’m coming!” I called to him, trying to sound as unalarmed as possible.

  Garvan was nowhere to be found. The slight sway in the curtains wasn’t enough to prevent me from checking under the bed and in my closet. I began to feel weak and woozy. A wave of sudden nausea threatened, and I worried that our dinner date was really going to suck!

  Peter knocked again, louder.

  “I’ll be there in a minute… I’m just getting my shoes on!” I said.

  I had to look. I needed to see what caused the pain and blood to drip down my neck.


  I stumbled over to the mirror. Two small streams trickled down the left side of my neck, threatening to spill onto my dress. Luckily, the black wool would keep it from being immediately noticeable—even to Peter’s keen eyes. What happened when I wiped a Kleenex over the twin wounds astonished me even more.

  There were no punctures in the skin. No seepage, just fiery redness like some kind of irritation, and brightest above my pair of birthmarks. ‘Little pink teardrops’ is what my Grandmother often called them. Like the tears tattooed beneath the eyes of the gang leaders in Richmond’s low-rent district, though not as dark in color. Now they were inflamed and tender to the touch.

  But still no blood.

  I looked back at the deep crimson streaks in the tissue I held, trying to make sense of what just happened. Peter’s urgent knocks grew faint. Then, the world around me went black.

  ’m not sure how long I was out. When I came to, I heard Peter’s voice getting gradually louder like someone slowly turning up a radio.

  “Txema… Txema? Shit, I think she’s waking up.”

  His image was hazy, and I could see two other figures behind him which I assumed were Johnny and Tyreen. He sounded shaken, and the concern in his voice touched me. It pulled me out of the dark, cold place I’d fallen into. I’m not sure I landed anywhere, just that I was immersed in a sea of thick blackness. I was unable to move. Held fast in close confines, it felt like being in a coffin too small for me.

  Underneath Peter’s voice I heard whispering voices holding a conversation. It was too difficult to understand the words, although the accents and cadences sounded French, maybe Spanish. There were several of these voices, and most of them were male. As they spoke, the pressure around me lifted. Softness caressed me, as if I lay upon a lush feather bed. The voices overlapped, creating a buzzing echo. New voices joined in, raising the volume and sounding alarmed. A cold grimy hand seized my throat, and that’s when I realized I had been unconscious or dreaming. Peter’s voice had been an anchor holding me fast to the real world.