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

by Aiden James

  I removed my gown, surprised at the room’s sudden coolness that caused my gooseflesh to rise and nipples to harden—good and bad effects, I guess. It was like the warmth was suddenly removed by a collective gasp among my vampire audience. Indeed, so much was riding on what happened in the next half hour.

  I climbed onto the bed, and positioned myself with as much ‘come and get me’ moxie as I could muster. But, the promising bulge protruding from Peter’s robe disappeared soon after Armando helped him take it off. Once the coolness I mentioned touched his skin, his manhood continued to shrink, and the murmur that followed among the vampires all but sealed its death. His face flushed crimson from an embarrassment that I’m sure will last a lifetime.

  Thinking there was no point to continue this debacle, I started to get up. Chanson stopped me, firmly grasping my arm. Her touch was still warm, and it flowed into me, easing the effects from the coolness surrounding me.

  “Wait, I have an idea,” she whispered in my ear, and then motioned for Armando to keep Peter from reaching for his robe. “Trust me on this.”

  She winked wickedly at me, and then sauntered over to my boyfriend. I’m sure it had to mess with his head to see a girl who so strongly resembled me. He had no idea she and I were related by blood. If he’d noticed her birthmark, he might’ve seen things differently. But, I’m pretty sure the path from her face to her generous bosom and proportionate sexy curves kept him from noticing much else. There isn’t much mystery to the mind of the typical male.

  Chanson brushed up against him, allowing her hand to linger upon his powerful chest before she sauntered over to the other side of the bed. Then, with her back to him and eyeing him coyly over her shoulder, in one smooth movement she loosened her gown and let it fall to her ankles. Completely naked, she arched her butt just enough for him to see the inviting folds of her sex and then she whirled around, wearing a predatory expression as she approached him again, strutting sultrily and allowing her firm breasts to hang just slightly.

  No doubt, every naughty thought filed away in his head was accessed, as I could perform no better than she, despite our physical similarities. In less than a minute, embarrassed soft became raging hard and fully aroused. It remained that way as she made her way over to me. Her eyes remained locked on him as she reached toward me. The back of her fingers accidentally brushed the top of my breast and she ran her hand up gently until her hand was under my chin. She shifted my head to where I was looking directly at him. It was clear to all three of us who was in charge at the moment and as my own breath shuddered I saw his arousal leap. I wasn’t about to blow what she had successfully created—despite the intense curiosity I sensed in the surrounding throng that had encroached a step or two from their previous distance.

  Meanwhile, Chanson’s heat, almost fully human, warmed me again as she moved closer. Her fangs looked like they had grown an inch longer.

  “Come over and fuck her, Peter, while she’s hot for you!” she cooed, her husky tone carrying a level of dominance and sexual confidence I hoped someday to attain. It damn near made me want her, too—and I don’t swing that way at all. “Do it now, Peter!”

  Surely, her exaggerated French accent didn’t hurt matters. Something told me that if he and I did survive this misadventure romantically, dressing up like a naughty French chambermaid might be a regular requirement to appease his sexual appetite.

  Excitement danced in his eyes. Without further delay, he clambered upon the bed. I prepared to receive him inside me, allowing him to push my legs open. Before I actually felt his penetration, Chanson buried her fangs in my throat.

  After the initial sting from her bite, an incredible rush of adrenaline flowed through me, encompassing my entire being. I felt an odd tingling sensation along the top of my head that quickly traveled to the soles of my feet. My heart pounded heavily, pumping my blood out of my body and into Chanson’s mouth. Along with this, Peter’s steady thrusts inside me began to bring me to orgasm, although his climax had yet to come.

  Suddenly, an incredibly sharp stabbing pain erupted inside my abdomen, from the ovary on my left side. The pain was excruciating—the worst thing I had ever encountered in my life up until then. No doubt, an ovum had been forced from dormancy down into my uterus. My ecstasy abruptly cut short, I felt the explosion of Peter’s orgasm, just as the world around me began to go black.

  One of the last things I recalled was Chanson’s voice calling to me from somewhere above, urging me to drink. An acrid taste that was metallic filled my mouth, as liquid poured down my throat. I almost choked and coughed up some of it.

  While losing consciousness, cheers of joy erupted around me. The ritual was a success. Garvan and Armando congratulated Peter, and I heard Nora tell Chanson that my color was good and that I’d be ‘fine in no time.’ Hearing these things as my awareness faded gave me a sense of satisfaction. At least there was hope of better days ahead. Maybe things would work out for all of us.

  But, the last thing I heard before everything went blank was Gustav’s panicked shouts, followed by an escalating murmur from the group. Something about the castle gates being stormed and an invasion on the main floor. Vampires. Bad ones with a single mission.

  To find and kill me.

  woke alone.

  My hands went first to my lower abdomen, where I had felt such excruciating pain. I am not sure what I expected to find, but it was smooth to the touch and the pain was gone. I ran them up my body to my neck. It was also smooth, though I could imagine a redness there, as happened before.

  The door to my room opened and Maria entered, carrying a silver serving tray with a pitcher of water and a small glass. My tongue was virtually stuck to the roof of my mouth, I was so thirsty. I sat up suddenly and reached out toward her.

  She jumped back and dropped the tray, shattering the glass and spilling water all over the floor.

  A stream of profanity flowed from her. Words, images, all of them crashed into me like a wave. The nonstop stream threatened to overwhelm me.

  “I’m sorry,” she said timidly. ‘Stupide! Stupide! Stupide!’

  “It’s okay, I am sorry that I scared you.” Was she calling me stupid? Herself? The shouting confused me. It was so opposite to her previous phrase.

  ‘J’espère que cette eau ne ruine pas ces chaussures. Racco loves them.’

  “Excuse me?” I was confused and tired and starting to get really pissed off.

  Another wave of French, too fast for me to understand or remember. Also a feeling of envy? Jealousy? Frustration? All of it at the same time.

  That was when I realized that somehow, I was hearing her thoughts.

  I felt nauseous. I couldn’t tell if it was the disorientation of having another’s thoughts in my head or dehydration or―could it be morning sickness already?

  I ran into the adjacent bathroom and was loudly and violently ill.

  I felt Maria’s disgust behind me.

  “Just go, please,” I said between retches. She was as grateful to be dismissed as I was to be alone. As she retreated her internal musings became quieter and quieter until finally they vanished, leaving me in silence. After a few moments of peace I stood up and rinsed my mouth out, and then splashed cold water on my face.

  I looked into the mirror and felt that I looked paler than normal. I pulled my hair back to take a look at my neck. Not surprisingly, the wounds had already healed, though the teardrops on my neck were slightly swollen still, providing further confirmation of what had happened to me in the hours just before dawn. More mental images from the event began to flood my awareness, and I could taste the blood being poured down my throat once more.

  That’s when incredible nausea overcame me, forcing me back down onto my knees as I retched for damn near twenty minutes.

  I eventually felt brave enough to leave the bathroom and when I did, I noticed a set of clean clothes laid out on the bed. Maria must have returned while I was being sick. As I dressed I noticed a susurration of French
coming through the door. Maria was waiting for me, I could tell this without opening the door. I closed my eyes and tried to guess which side of the doorway she was on, but it didn’t really work. I could tell she was over there somewhere, but it was far from precise.

  I stepped through the door (she was on the left) and forced a smile at her, which she returned.

  “I am ready to see Racco,” I said to her with more than a little spite.

  “He is not here, though Mercel asked that I escort you to him when you awoke.”

  I felt her smugness. I might have just imagined it. How was I to know when I was reading someone else’s thoughts or if I was just projecting my own expectations?

  Unwilling to say anything else, I just nodded at her, and she led me to Racco’s major domo.

  Mercel greeted me with his typically polite exuberance but I wasn’t in the mood for small talk.

  “Where is Racco?” I asked.

  “I cannot tell you any more precisely than to just say that you will see him again, and soon.”

  “There was an attack as I passed out. At least I think there was…” I trailed off and left a silence for him to fill.

  “There was. Ralu was at the forefront of a veritable horde of monsters.” He clucked his tongue and shook his head. “I am sure that Racco will fill you in once we get to China.”

  “China?”

  “Oh, how careless of me to let that slip.” He winked at me. “There were a great many casualties on both sides, but more than that I cannot say. I know this is not what you want to hear, Mademoiselle Ybarra, but I have my orders to follow, and it is likely that I have already said too much. Ask me anything other than that, and if I know the answer, I will tell you.”

  Well, he refused to answer my next question as to when Racco would be coming to this new secret hideout—which I assumed would be another castle. Also, I discovered that he must have learned the ability to cloak his thoughts, as I picked up nothing from him. I’d have to ask him to teach me that some time.

  Other details Mercel did know, and could tell me, were these: we would be boarding the plane around 3:00 p.m., and joining us would be more than one hundred vampires, still asleep in their coffins. This was as much for my continued protection as companionship, he said. An additional cargo plane would also make the trip, carrying most of the heavier caskets and other treasured items already packed by Gustav’s servants. It lightened my heart to learn that my vampire friends were among those selected to accompany me.

  Peter had already been forced to return to America. There was so much left unresolved and I had hoped for an opportunity to speak with him, in order to gauge where our relationship stood after the ceremony. I doubted that it could be salvaged, based on what I knew of his sheltered upbringing.

  I fully intend to meet up with him when I’m allowed to visit my family in Virginia; after all, he is the father of the child already growing inside of me.

  My baby girl.

  I have been told that the normal gestation period following the relance de sang is just five to seven months. I can hardly wait to introduce the world to the latest blood princess. I am not sure how I know, but there is no doubt at all that the child inside me is a girl. I have a name already, one suggested by Gustav just a few hours ago, though it has grown on me. I like this name but can’t share it. Not yet.

  I know nothing of the estate we’re heading to, but after experiencing the wealth of my vampire protectors and their alchemist sponsor, I assume it will be grand. Perhaps even another palace of some sort.

  Now, I have one last surprise to share before I bring this chronicle to a close. My vampire friends wanted to add one last element to ensure I didn’t get too bored or lonely in our new home. So, they brought someone else along. Someone I never believed I’d ever see again in this world. Someone whose brilliant smile and big green eyes could rival many a vampire’s shimmering countenance while alive.

  This person entered the passenger cabin less than half an hour ago, dressed in a stunning coral Valentino cocktail dress and is sitting across from me, pressing me to finish.

  Tyreen.

  Tyreen the vampire—or I should say beautiful vampire. Still gorgeous and voluptuous, and already at home with extravagant vampire fashion!

  I have only one worry with her. Since she’s new to the undead world, and from what I hear the nubile vamps are always hungry, how will she handle her bloodlust?

  And, the way she’s looking at me now…

  Wish me luck.

  Buy Now at: https://curiosityquills.com/kindle/whitechapel/

  London 1888.

  here was a time, long ago, when I hung myself with remorse. An act I considered justified in exchange for the betrayal of my good friend Jesus of Nazareth. My gain? Thirty pieces of silver and, my curse? To become immortal, forced to roam for eons of time while many learned scholars attempted to debunk what really happened to me. Rumors abounded through the centuries about my demise, some laughable, others close to the truth, whilst I continued to wander through centuries neither growing old nor dying. I had, with misfortune, met the sharp blades of knives, a bullet and various types of torture contraptions. None succeeded in killing me. Instead, after a quick recovery, I was restored.

  But the curse of greed remained. With good faith, I attempted to shake my desire for money, and failed miserably as I amassed many fortunes in short spaces of time. Of course, I had the advantage of longevity in which to learn how to perfect the finer points. Each venture becoming more successful than the last. Short of blowing my own trumpet, I admit to being expert in many skills and, having the good fortune to prosper in England, my residence for over eighty years, I created many new business ventures, bought and sold many properties.

  My friend, and fellow immortal, Roderick Cooley walked the earth on and off with me for seventeen hundred years, until settled on his fine plantation in Virginia. I began a campaign of letters and telegrams six months ago. I needed Roderick to come in as a partner on a lucrative business opportunity. Having sold my existing business for a tidy sum, I planned on expanding my wealth considerably.

  My name, Judas Iscariot, is not used for my current residence; I much preferred the alias of Emmanuel Ortiz for appearances. It suited well; I had many pseudonyms, a master in all disguises with a penchant for excitement. In the midst of my business dealings I found another, far more sinister path I wished to take - my intrigue heightened after reading various newspaper reports.

  My latest purchase was a splendid Regency home in the heart of London’s Belgravia. It afforded a true gentleman’s lifestyle with all the trappings my heart desired. Party invitations became a regular occurrence shortly after I acquired my new address, giving me the opportunity to mingle with London’s elite upper class society on a regular basis. My new import business flourished as England opened its doors to new tastes and delights from foreign lands. In came cotton, gold, diamonds, tea, spices, flax, and opium with abundance. I didn’t care to admit to my clandestine operations: to supply the opium dens of London alongside the respectful supplies to pharmaceutical companies who turn them into Laudanum.

  We all have a secret or two and I had plenty. For example, who I really am and why I was fixated and enthralled with Jack the Ripper. News of his hideous crimes spread far and wide, to America and beyond. I wanted to meet the chap head-on and stop him. But the lure of lavishness and excess had overtaken and distracted me for such a long time I was unsure of my commitment.

  A good example of one distraction would be the drawing room, a place for entertainment and my pride and joy. In olden days, privileged members of the French court of royalty would gather outside the King’s Levees waiting for him to make his first public appearance of the day. In Victorian times the Levees had become the drawing room and took on quite a different purpose. When entertaining, after a lavish dinner, the ladies made their way to the room for idle gossip, while we fellows stayed in the dining room to enjoy a fine cigar, conversation and a good Napole
on cognac. Later we would join the ladies, if I was fortunate to have Eliza Gardiner in attendance, after some gentle persuasion she would delight us with her wonderful piano recitals. Occasionally, I was given the opportunity to duet with her. It was such a pleasure, being musically inclined. Eliza possessed the voice of an angel and enjoyed singing my self-written sonnets, while I played my precious Stein piano. Our guests always loved the high level of entertainment and I loved Eliza, as a friend. Never once did I contemplate a liaison and betrayal of her husband Cyril, who I considered a fine fellow. Although I found her to be very attractive indeed, I remained a gentleman.

  The chill of autumn reminded me the short summer had come to an end and the fire now needed to be drawn and lit.

  “A telegram for you, Sir.” My trusted butler, Edward, brought the post along with my morning tea into the study. I always gave telegrams my complete attention.

  ‘The Leather Apron still at large in Whitechapel. Stop. Enough frivolity. Stop. Contact me at your earliest convenience A.L. Richard. Stop.”

  Rumors ran rife in London that each murder may be connected. There was not a social circle left that did not have something to say. The various hoax letters purporting to be from Jack had started to circulate, but none led to the killer. Now, my good friend and news reporter, Albert, had thoughtfully sent me a telegram, using one of the nicknames given to the elusive Jack: The Leather Apron, on account of his habit of carving up victims in the most gruesome manner remained free as a bird.

  Through my own omission, I could not help but be drawn to the brutal murders. Caught up in the moment, I desired to be the one to bring him to justice. I was not startled easily or unused to witnessing unspeakable horrors in the past. I often thought there could be no mortal that would succeed in catching the treacherous and elusive killer.